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POT-BOUILLE 


(PIPING HOT) 


A REALISTIC NOVEL 


BY 

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\* 


TRANSLATED FROM THE noth FRENCH EDITION 


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POT-BOUILLE 


CHAPTER I. 

In the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, a block of vehicles arrested 
the cab which was bringing Octave Mouret and his three trunks 
from the Lyons railway station. The young man lowered one of the 
windows, in spite of the already intense cold of that dull November 
afternoon. He was surprised at the abrupt approach of twilight in 
this neighborhood of narrow streets, all swarming with a busy 
crowd. The oaths of the drivers as they lashed their snorting 
horses, the endless jostlings on the foot pavements, the serried line 
of shops swarming with attendants and customers, bewildered him; 
for, though he had dreamed of a cleaner Paris than the one he 
beheld, he had never hoped to find it so eager for trade, and he felt 
that it was publicly open to the appetites of energetic young 
fellows. 

The driver leant toward him. 

“ IPs the Passage Choiseul you want, isn't it?" 

“ No, the Rue de Choiseul. A new house, I think." 

And the cab only had to turn the corner. The house was the 
second one in the street: a big house four stories high, the stone¬ 
work of which was scarcely discolored, in the midst of the dirty 
stucco of the adjoining old frontages. Octave, who had alighted 
onto the pavement, measured it and studied it with a mechanical 
glance, from the silk warehouse on the ground floor, to the project¬ 
ing windows on the fourth floor opening onto a narrow terrace. 
On the first floor, carved female heads supported a highly elaborate 
cast-iron balcony. The windows were surrounded with complicated 
frames, roughly chiseled in the soft stone; and, lower down, above 
the tall doorway, two cupids were unrolling a scroll bearing the 
number, which at night-time was lighted up by a jet of gas from 
the inside. 

A stout, fair gentleman, who was coming out of the vestit 
stopped short on catching sight of Octave. 

“ What! you here !” exclaimed he. “ Why, I was not expeci 
you until to-morrow I" 



8 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ The truth is, ” rephed the young man, “ I left Plassans a day 
earlier than I originally intended. Isn’t the room ready ?” 

“ Oh, yes. I took it a fortnight ago, and I furnished it at once in 
the way you desired. Wait a bit, I will take you to it.” 

He re-entered the house, though Octave begged he would not 
give himself the trouble. The driver had got the three trunks off 
the cab. Inside the doorkeeper’s room, a dignified-looking man 
with a long face, clean-shaven like a diplomatist, was standing up 
gravely reading the “ Moniteur.” He deigned, however, to interest 
himself about these trunks which were being deposited in his door¬ 
way ; and, taking a few steps forward, he asked his tenant, the arch¬ 
itect of the third floor, as he called him: 

“ Is this the person, Monsieur Campardon ?” 

u Yes, Monsieur Gourd, this is Monsieur Octave Mouret, for whom 
I have taken the room on the fourth floor. He will sleep there and 
take his meals with us. Monsieur Mouret is a friend of my wife’s 
relations, and I beg you will show him every attention.” 

Meanwhile, Monsieur Gourd was inspecting the trunks. He 
pushed them with his foot, and, their weight filling him with respect, 
he talked of fetching a porter to carry them up the servants’ stair¬ 
case. 

“ Madame Gourd, I’m going out,” cried he, just putting his head 
inside his room. 

It was like a drawing-room, with bright looking-glasses, a red 
flowered Wilton carpet and violet ebony furniture; and, through a 
partly opened door, one caught a glimpse of the bed-chamber with 
a bedstead hung with garnet rep. Madame Gourd, a very fat 
woman with yellow ribbons in her hair, was stretched out in an easy- 
chair with her hands clasped, and doing nothing. 

“ Well! let’s go up, ” said the architect. 

And, seeing how impressed the young man seemed to be by Mon¬ 
sieur Gourd’s black velvet cap and sky-blue slippers, he added, as 
he pushed open the mahogany door of the vestibule: 

“ You know he was formerly the Duke de Yaugelade’s valet.” 

“ Ah!” simply ejaculated Octave. 

“ It’s as I tell you, and he married the widow of a little bailiff of 
Mort-la-Ville. They even own a house there. But they are waiting 
until they have three thousand francs a year before going there to 
live. Oh ! they are most respectable doorkeepers! ” 

The decorations of the vestibule and the staircase were gaudily 
luxurious. At the foot of the stairs was the figure of a woman, a 
kind of gilded Neapolitan, supporting on her head an amphora from 
which issued three gas-jets protected by ground-glass globes. The 
panels of imitation white marble with pink border succeeded each 
other at regular intervals up the wall of the staircase, whilst the 
cast-iron balustrade, with its mahogany hand-rail, was in imitation of 
old silver with clusters of golden leaves. A red carpet, secured 
with brass rods, covered the stairs. But what especially struck 


POT-BOUILLE 


9 


Octave on entering was a green house temperature, a warm breath 
which seemed to he puffed from some mouth into his face. 

“ Hallo !” said he, “ the staircase is warmed.” 

“ Of course,” replied Campardon. “ All landlords who have the 
least self-respect go to that expense now. The house is a very fine 
one, very fine. ” 

He looked about him as though he were sounding the walls with 
his architect’s eyes. 

“ My dear fellow, you will see it is a most comfortable place, and 
inhabited solely by highly respectable people. ” 

Then, slowly ascending, he mentioned the names of the different 
tenants. On each floor were two separate suites of apartments, one 
looking on the street, the other onto the courtyard, and the pol¬ 
ished mahogany doors of which faced each other. He began by 
saying a few words respecting Monsieur Auguste Vabre; he was the 
landlord’s eldest son; since the spring he had rented the silk ware¬ 
house on the ground floor, and he also occupied the whole of the 
“ entresol ” above. Then, on the first floor the landlord’s other son, 
Monsieur Theophile Vabre, and his wife, resided in the apartment 
overlooking the courtyard; and in the one overlooking the. street 
lived the landlord himself, formerly a notary at Versailles, but who 
was now lodging with his son-in-law, Monsieur Duveyrier, a judge 
at the Court of Appeal. 

“ A fellow who is not yet forty-five, ” said Campardon, stopping 
short. “ That’s something remarkable, is it not? ” 

He ascended two steps, and then suddenly turning round, he 
added: 

“ Water and gas on every floor.” 

Beneath the tall window on each landing, the panes of which, 
bordered with fretwork, lit up the staircase with a white light, was 
placed a narrow, velvet-covered bench. The architect observed that 
elderly persons could sit down and rest. Then, as he passed the 
second floor without naming the tenants: 

“ And there? ” asked Octave, pointing to the door of the prin¬ 
cipal suite. 

“ Oh ! there,” said he, “ persons whom one never sees, whom no 
one knows. The house could well do without them. Blemishes, 
you know, are to be found everywhere.” 

He gave a little snort of contempt. 

“ The gentleman writes books, I believe. ” 

But on the third floor his smile of satisfaction reappeared. The 
apartments looking onto the courtyard were divided into two 
suites; they were occupied by Madame Juzeur, a little woman who 
was most unhappy, and a very distinguished gentleman who 1 
taken a room to which he came once a week on business matt* 
Whilst giving these particulars, Campardon opened the door on 
other side of the landing. 

“And this is where I live, ” resumed he, “Wait a momen 


10 


POT-BOUILLB 


must get your key. We will first go up to your ro#m: you can set 
my wife afterward. ” 

During the two minutes he was left alone, Octave felt penetrated 
by the grave silence of the staircase. He leant over the balustrade, 
in the warm air which ascended from the vestibule; he raised his 
head, listening if any noise came from above. It was the death-like 
peacefulness of a middle-class drawing-room, carefully shut in, 
and not admitting a breath from outside. Behind the beautiful, 
shining mahogany doors, there seemed to be unfathomable depths of 
respectability. 

“ You will have some excellent neighbors,” said Campardon, 
reappearing with the key; “ on the street side there are the Josse- 
rands, quite a family, the father, who is cashier at the Saint-Joseph 
glassworks, and also two marriageable daughters; and next to you 
the Pichons; the husband is a clerk. They are not rolling in wealth, 
but they.are educated people. Everything has to be let, has it not ? 
even in a house like this.” 

From the third landing, the red carpet ceased, and was replaced 
by a simple gray Holland. Octave’s vanity was badly ruffled. The 
staircase had, little by little, filled him with respect; he was deeply 
moved at inhabiting such a fine house, as the architect termed it. 
As, following the latter, he turned into the passage leading to his 
room, he caught sight through a partly opened door of a young 
woman standing up before a cradle. She raised her head at the 
noise. She was fair, with clear and vacant eyes; and all he carried 
away was this very distinct look, for the young woman, suddenly 
blushing, pushed the door to in the shame-faced way of a person 
taken by surprise. 

Campardon turned round to repeat: 

“ Water and gas on every floor, my dear fellow. ” 

Then he pointed out a door which opened onto the servants’ 
staircase. Their rooms were up above. And, stopping at the end 
of the passage, he added: 

“ Here we are at last. ” 

The room, which was square, pretty large, and hung with a gray 
wall-paper with blue flowers, was furnished very simply. Close to 
the alcove was a little dressing-closet with just room enough to 
wash one’s hands. Octave went straight to the window, which 
admitted a greenish light. Below was the courtyard, looking sad 
and clean, with its regular pavement, and the shining brass top of 
its cistern. And still not a human being, not even a noise; nothing 
but the uniform windows, without a bird-cage, without a flower-pot 
displaying the monotony of their white curtains. To hide the bm 
bare wall of the house on the left-hand side, which shut in the 
square of the courtyard, the windows had been repeated, imitation 
windows in paint, with shutters eternally closed, behind which the 
walled-in life of the neighboring apartments appeared to continue. 

“ But I shall be very comfortable here! ” cried Octave, delighted 

“ I thought so,” said Campardon. “ Well! I did everything as 


POT-BOUILLE 


11 


though it had been for myself ; and, moreover, I carried out the 
instructions contained in your letters. So the furniture pleases you ? 
It is all that is necessary for a young man. Later on, you can make 
any changes you like. ” 

And, as Octave shook his hand, thanking him, and apologizing for 
having given him so much trouble, he resumed, in a serious tone of 
voice : 

“ Only, my boy, no rows here, and above all no women! On my 
word of honor, if you were to bring a woman here it would revolu¬ 
tionize the whole house! ” 

11 Be easy! ” murmured the young man, feeling rather anxious. 

“ No, let me tell you, for it is I who would be compromised. You 
have seen the house. All middle-class people, and of extreme 
morality! between ourselves, they affect it rather too much. Never 
a word, never more noise than you have heard just now. Ah, 
well! Monsieur Gourd would at once fetch Monsieur Vabre, and we 
should both be in a nice pickle! My dear fellow, I ask it of you for 
my own peace of mind: respect the house. ” 

Octave, overpowered by so much virtue and respectability, swore 
to do so. Then Campardon, casting a mistrustful glance around, 
and lowering his voice as though some one might have heard him, 
added, with sparkling eyes: 

“Outside it concerns nobody. Paris is big enough, is it not? 
there is plenty of room. As for myself, I am at heart an artist, 
therefore I think nothing of it! ” 

A porter carried up the trunks. When everything was straight, 
the architect assisted paternally at Octave’s toilet. Then, rising to 
his feet, he said : 

“ Now we will go and see my wife.” 

Down on the third floor the maid, a slim, dark, and coquettish- 
looking girl, said that madame was busy. Campardon, with a view 
of putting his young friend at ease, showed him over the rooms: 
first of all, there was the huge white and gold drawing-room, highly 
decorated with artificial moldings, and situated between a green 
parlor, which the architect had turned into a work-room, and the 
bed-room, into which they could not enter, but the narrow shape of 
which, and the mauve wall-paper he described. As he next ushered 
him into the dining-room, all in imitation wood, with an extraor¬ 
dinary complication of baguettes and coffers, Octave, enchanted, 
exclaimed: 

“ It is very handsome ! ” 

On the ceiling, two big cracks cut right through the coffers, and, 
in a corner, the paint had peeled off and displayed the plaster. 

“Yes, it creates an effect, ” slowly observed the architect, his 
eyes fixed on the ceiling. “ You see, these kind of houses are built 
to create effect. Only, the walls will not bear much looking into. 
It is not twelve years old yet, and it is already cracking. One 
builds the frontage of handsome stone, with a lot of sculpture about 
it ) one gives three coats of varnish to the walls of the staircase; one 


12 


POT-BOUILLE 


paints and gilds the rooms; and all that flatters people, and inspires 
respect. Oh! it is still solid, it will certainly last as long as we 
shall! ” 

He led him again across the ante-room, which was lighted by a 
window of ground glass. To the left, looking onto the courtyard, 
there was a second bed-chamber, where his daughter Angele slept, 
and which, all in white, looked on this November afternoon as sad 
as a tomb. Then, at the end of the passage, came the kitchen, 
into which he insisted on conducting Octave, saying that it was 
necessary to see everything. 

“ Walk in, ” repeated he, pushing open the door. 

A terrible uproar issued from it. In spite of the cold, the window • 
was wide open. With their elbows on the rail, the dark maid and 
a fat cook, a dissolute-looking old party, were leaning out into the 
narrow well of an inner courtyard, which lighted the kitchens of 
each floor, placed opposite to each other. They were both yelling 
with their backs bent, whilst, from the depths of this hole arose the 
sounds of vulgar voices, mingled with oaths and bursts of laughter. 
It was like the overflow of some sewer; all the domestics of the house 
were there, easing their minds. Octave’s thoughts reverted to the 
peaceful majesty of the grand staircase. 

Just then the two women, warned by some instinct, turned round. 
They remained thunderstruck on beholding their master with a 
gentleman. There was a gentle whistle, windows were shut, and 
all was once more as silent as death. 

“ What is the matter, Lisa? ” asked Campardon. 

11 Sir,” replied the maid, greatly excited, “ it’s that filthy Adele 
again. She has thrown a rabbit’s guts out of the window. You 
should speak to Monsieur Josserand, sir.” 

Campardon became very grave, anxious not to make any promise. 
He returned to his work-room, saying to Octave: 

“ You have seen all. On each floor, the rooms are arranged the 
same. I pay a rent of two thousand five hundred francs, and on a 
third floor, too! Rents are rising every day. Monsieur Vabre must 
make about twenty-two thousand francs a year from his house. 
And it will increase still more, for there is a question of opening a 
wide thoroughfare from the Place de la Bourse to the new opera 
house. And he had the ground this is built upon almost for 
nothing, twelve years ago, after that great fire caused by a drug¬ 
gist’s servant! ” 

As they entered, Octave observed, hanging above a drawing 
table, and in the full light from the window, a richly framed picture 
of a Virgin, displaying in her opened breast an enormous flaming 
heart. He could not repress a movement of surprise; he looked 
at Campardon, whom he had known to be a rather wild fellow at 
Plassans. 

“ Ah! I forgot to tell you,” resumed the latter, slightly coloring, 
“ I have been appointed diocesan architect, yes, at Evreux. Oh! a 
mere bagatelle as regards money, in all barely two thousand fraiics 


POT-BOUILLB 


13 


a year. But there is scarcely anything to do, a journey now and 
again; for the rest I have an inspector there. And, you see, it is a 
great deal when one can print on one’s cards 1 government archi¬ 
tect.’ You can have no idea what an amount of work that procures 
me in the highest society.” 

Whilst speaking, he looked at the Virgin with the flaming 
heart. 

“ After all,” continued he, in a sudden fit of frankness, “ I do not 
care a button for their paraphernalia! ” 

But, on Octave bursting out laughing,'Sthe architect was seized 
with fear. Why confide in that young man? He gave a side 
glance, and, putting on an air of compunction, he tried to smooth 
over what he had said. 

u I do not care, and yet I do care. Well! yes, I am becoming like 
that. You will see, you will see, my friend; when you have lived a 
little longer, you will do as every one else. ” 

Octave’s eyes became fixed on a number of the “ Gazette de 
France, ” which was lying amongst some plans. Then Campardon, 
more and more ill at ease, rang for the maid to know if madame was 
at length disengaged. Yes, the doctor was just leaving, madame 
was at length disengaged. Yes, the doctor was just leaving, 
madame would be there directly. 

“ Is Madame Campardon unwell? ” asked the young man. 

“ No, she is the same as usual, ” said the architect, in a bored 
tone of voice. 

“ Ah ! and what is the matter with her ? ” 

Again embarrassed, he did not give a straightforward answer. 

“You know, there is always something going wrong with women. 
She has been in this state for the last thirteen years, ever since her 
confinement. Otherwise, she is as well as can be. You will even 
find her stouter. ” 

Octave asked no further questions. Just then, Lisa returned, 
bringing a card; and the architect, begging to be excused, has¬ 
tened to the drawing-room, telling the young man as he disappeared 
to talk to his wife and have patience. Octave had caught sight, on 
the door being quickly opened and closed, of the black mass of a 
cassock in the center of the large white and gold apartment. 

At the same moment Madame Campardon entered from the ante¬ 
room. He scarcely knew her again. In other days, when a young¬ 
ster, he had known her at Plassans, at her father’s, Monsieur Do- 
mergue, government clerk of the works, she was thin and ugly, as 
puny-looking as a young girl suffering from the crisis of her puberty ; 
and now he beheld her plump, with the clear and placid complexion 
of a nun, soft eyes, dimples, and a general appearance of an ov( 
fed she-cat. If she had not been able to grow pretty, she h 
ripened toward thirty, gaining a sweet savor and a nice fresh od 
of autumn fruit. He remarked, however, that she walked with d 
ficulty, her whole body, wrapped in a mignonette-colored silk drei 
jng-gown, moving; which gave her a languid air. 


14 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ But you are a man, now ! ” said she gayly, holding out her hands. 
“ How you have grown since our last journey to the country ! ” 

And she gazed at him ; tall, dark, handsome, with his well-kept 
mustache and beard. When he told her his age, twenty-two, she 
scarcely believed it; he looked twenty-five at least. He, whom the 
presence of a woman, even though she were the lowest of servants, 
filled with rapture, laughed melodiously, enveloping her with his 
eyes of the color of old gold, and of the softness of velvet. 

“ Ah ! yes,” repeated he, gently, “ I have grown, I have grown. 
Do you recollect when your cousin Gfasparine used to buy me 
marbles? ” 

Then he gave her news of her parents. Monsieur and Madame 
Domergue were living happily in the house to which they had 
retired; they merely complained of being very lonely, bearing 
Campardon a grudge for having taken their little Rose from them 
during a stay he had made at Plassans on business. 

“And your parents?” inquired she in her turn. “How are 
Monsieur and Madame Mouret ? ” 

“ Very well, thank you, ” repliedhe. “ My mother scarcely leaves 
her garden. You would find the house in the Rue de la Banne just 
as you left it. ” 

Madame Campardon, who seemed unable to remain standing for 
long without feeling tired, had seated herself on a high drawing- 
chair, her legs stretched out in her dressing-gown ; and he, taking 
a low chair beside her, raised his head when speaking, with his 
air of habitual adoration. With his large shoulders, he was like a 
woman; he had a woman’s feeling, which at once admitted him to 
their hearts. So that, at the end of ten minutes, they were both 
talking like two lady friends of long standing. 

“ Now I am your boarder,” said he, passing a handsome hand 
with neatly trimmed nails over his beard. “ We shall get on well 
together, you will see. How charming it was of you to remember 
the Plassans youngster and to busy yourself about everything at 
the first word! ” 

But she protested. * 

“ No, do not thank me. I am a great deal too lazy, I never move. 
It was Achille who arranged everything. And, besides, was it not 
sufficient that my mother mentioned to us your desire to board in 
some family, for us to think at once of opening our doors to you? 
You will not be with strangers, and will be company for us.” 

Then he told her of his own affairs. After having obtained a 
bachelor’s diploma, to please his family, he had just passed three 
years at Marseilles, in a big calico print warehouse, which had a 
factory in the neighborhood of Plassans. He had a passion for 
trade, the trade in women’s luxuries, into which enters a seduction, 
a slow possession by gilded words and adulatory glances. And he 
related, laughing victoriously, how he had made the five thousand 
francs, without which he would never have ventured on coming to 


POT-BOUILLE 


15 


Paris, for he had the prudence of a Jew "beneath the exterior of an 
amiable, giddy-headed fellow. 

“ I have traveled for two years, which is enough,’ 7 resumed he. 
u Besides, there is Paris to conquer. I must immediately look out 
for something. 77 

“ What! 77 exclaimed she, “ has not Achille told you ? But he 
has a berth for you, and close by, too! 77 

He uttered his thanks, as surprised as though he were in.fairy¬ 
land, asking, byway of a joke, whether he would not find a wife 
and a hundred thousand francs a year in his room that evening, 
when a young girl of fourteen, tall and ugly, with fair, insipid-look¬ 
ing hair, pushed open the door, and gave a slight cry of fright. 

11 Come in, and don’t be afraid, ” said Madame Compardon. 11 It is 
Monsieur Octave Mouret, whom you heard us speak of.” 

Then, turning toward the latter, she added: 

“ My daughter Ang&le. We did not bring her with us at our last 
journey. She was so delicate! But she is getting stouter now. ” 

Angele, with the awkwardness of girls in the ungrateful age, 
went and placed herself behind her mother, and cast glances at the 
smiling young man. Almost immediately Campardon reappeared, 
looking excited; and he could not contain himself, but told his 
wife in a few words of his good fortune: the Abb6 Mauduit, Vicar 
of Saint-Roch, had called about some work, merely some repairs, 
but which might lead to many other things. Then, annoyed at 
having spoken before Octave, and still quivering, he rapped one 
hand in the other, saying: 

“ Well! well! what are we going to do ? 77 

“ Whv, you were going out 77 said Octave. “ Do not let me dis¬ 
turb you. 77 

“ Achille,” murmured Madame Campardon, “ that berth, at the 
Hedouins 7 - 77 

“Why, of course! i was forgetting, 77 exclaimed the architect. 
“ My dear fellow, a place of first clerk at a large linen draper’s. I 
know some one there who said a word for you. You are expected. 
It is not yet four o’clock; shall I introduce you now °l 77 

Octave hesitated, anxious about the bow of his necktie, flurried 
by his mania for being neatly dressed. However, he decided to go 
when Madame Campardon assured him that he looked very well. 
With a languid movement, she offered her forehead to her husband, 
who kissed her with a great show of tenderness, repeating: 

“ Good-bye, my darling — good-bye, my pet. 77 

“ Do not forget that we dine at seven, 77 said she, accompanying 
them across tlie drawing-room, where they had left their hats. 

On reaching the street, Campardon turned into the Rue Neuve- 
Saint-Augustine. He remained silent, with the absorbed air of a 
man seeking for an opportunity to broach a subject. 

“ Do you remember Mademoiselle Gasparine ? 77 asked he, at 
length. u She is first lady assistant at the Hedouins. 7 You will see 
her. 77 


16 


POT-BOUILLE 


Octave thought this a good time for satisfying his curiosity* 

“ Ah ! ” said he. “ Does she live with you ¥ ” 

“ No ! no! ” exclaimed the architect, hastily, and as though feel¬ 
ing hurt at the hare idea. 

Then, as the young man appeared surprised at his vehemence, he 
gently continued, speaking in an embarrassed way: 

“No; she and my wife no longer see each other. You know, in 
families — Well, I met her, and I could not refuse to shake hands, 
could I ¥ more especially as she is not very well off, poor girl. So 
that now they have news of each other through me. In these old 
quarrels, one must leave the task of healing the wounds to time. ” 

Octave was about to question him plainly on the subject of his 
marriage, when the architect suddenly put an end to the conversa¬ 
tion by saying: 

“ Here we are! ” 

It was a large linen draper’s, opening onto the narrow triangle of 
the Place Gaiilon, at the corner of the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin 
and the de la Michodiere. Across two windows, immediately above 
the shop, was a signboard, with the words, “ The Ladies’ Paradise, 
founded in 1822,” in faded gilt letters, whilst on the shop windows 
was inscribed, in red, the name of the firm, “ Deleuze, Hedouin 
& Co.” 

It so happened that Monsieur Hedouin was at Lille buying some 
linen; therefore Madame Hedouin received them. She was stand¬ 
ing up, a penholder behind her ear, giving orders to two shopmen 
who were putting away some pieces of stuff on the shelves; and she 
appeared to him so tall, so admirably lovely, with her regular feat¬ 
ures and her tidy hair, so gravely smiling, in her black dress, with a 
turn-down collar and a man’s tie, that Octave, not usually timid, 
could only stammer out a few observations. Everything was settled 
without any waste of words. 

“ Well! ” said she, in her quiet way, and with her tradeswoman’s 
accustomed gracefulness, “ you may as well look over the place, as 
you are not engaged. ” 

She called one of her clerks, and put Octave under his guidance; 
then, after having politely replied to a question of Campardon’s that 
Mademoiselle Gasparine was out on an errand, she turned her back 
and resumed her work, continuing to give her orders in her gentle 
and concise voice. 

“ Not there, Alexandre. Put the silks up at the top. Be careful; 
those are not the same make! ” 

Campardon, after hesitating, at length said to Octave that he 
would call again for him to take him back to dinner. Then, during 
two hours, the young man went over the warehouse. He found it 
badly lighted, small, encumbered with stock, which, overflowing 
from the basement, became heaped up in the corners, leaving only 
narrow passages between high walls of bales. On several different 
occasions he ran against Madame Hedouin, busy, and scuttling 
along the narrowest passages without ever catching her dress in any- 


POT-BOUILLE 


17 


thing. . She seemed the very life and soul of the establishment, all 
the assistants belonging to which obeyed the slightest sign of her 
white hands. Octave felt hurt that she did not take more notice of 
him. Toward a quarter to seven, as he was coming up a last time 
from the basement, he was told that Campardon was on the first 
floor with Mademoiselle G-asparine. Up there was the hosiery 
department, which that young lady looked after. But, at the top 
of the winding staircase, the young man stopped abruptly behind a 
pyramid of pieces of calico systematically arranged, on hearing the 
architect talking most familiarly to G-asparine. 

“ I swear to you it is not so ! ” cried he, forgetting himself so far 
as to raise his voice. 

A slight pause ensued; 

“ How is she now ? ” at length inquired the young woman. 

“ Well! always the same. It comes and goes. She feels that it 
is all over now. She will never get right again. ” 

Gasparine resumed, in compassionate tones: 

“ My poor friend, it is you who are to be pitied. However, as you 
have been able to manage in another way, tell her how sorry I am to 
hear that she is still unwell-” 

Campardon, without letting her finish, seized hold of her by the 
shoulders and kissed her roughly on the lips, in the gas-heated air, 
already becoming heavy beneath the low ceiling. She returned his 
kiss, murmuring: 

“ To-morrow morning, if you can, at six o’clock. I will remain 
in bed. Knock three times.” 

Octave, bewildered, and beginning to understand, coughed, and 
showed himself. Another surprise awaited him. Cousin Gasparine 
had become dried up, thin and angular, with her jaw projecting, and 
her hair coarse; and all she had preserved of her former self were 
her large, superb eyes, in a face that had now become cadaverous. 
With her jealous forehead, her ardent and obstinate mouth, she 
troubled him as much as Rose had charmed him by her tardy expan¬ 
sion of an indolent blonde. 

Gasparine was polite, without effusiveness. She remembered 
Plassans — she talked to the young man of the old times. When 
they went off, Campardon and he, she shook their hands. Down¬ 
stairs, Madame Hedouin simply said to Octave: 

u To-morrow, then, sir. ” 

Out in the street the young man, deafened by the cabs, jostled by 
the passers-by, could not help remarking that this lady was very 
beautiful, but she did not seem particularly amiable. On the black 
and muddy pavement, the bright windows of freshly painted shops, 
flaring with gas, cast broad rays of vivid light, whilst the old shops, 
with their somber displays, lit up in the interior only by smoking 
lamps, which burnt like distant stars, saddened the streets with 
masses of shadow. In the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, just before 


Pot-Bouille 2 


18 


POT-BOUILLE 


turning into the Rue do Choiseul, the architect bowed on passing 
before one of these establishments. 

Whilst talking, they had,, reached the top of the stairs. They 
were being waited for. Madame Campardon had put on a gray silk 
dress, had arranged her hair coquettishly, and looked very neat and 
prim. Campardon kissed her on the neck, with the emotion of a 
good husband. 

“ Good evening, my darling; good evening, my pet.” 

And they passed into the dining-room. The dinner was delight¬ 
ful. Madame Campardon at first talked of the Deleuzes and the 
Hedouins—families respected throughout the neighborhood, and 
whose members were well known; a cousin who was a stationer 
in the Rue Gaillon, an uncle who had an umbrella shop in the Pas¬ 
sage Choiseul, and nephews and nieces in business all round about. 
Then the conversation turned, and they talked of Angffle, who was 
sitting stiffly on her chair, and eating with inert gestures. Her 
mother was bringing her up at home, it was preferable; and, not 
wishing to say more, she blinked her eyes, to convey that young 
girls learnt very naughty things at boarding-schools. The child had 
slyly balanced her plate on her knife. Lisa, who was clearing the 
cloth, missed breaking it, and exclaimed: 

“ It was your fault, mademoiselle! ” 

A mad laugh, violently restrained, passed over AngMe’s face. 
Madame Campardon contented herself with shaking her head; and, 
when Lisa had left the room to fetch the dessert, she sang her 
praises—very intelligent, very active, a regular Paris girl, always 
knowing which way to turn. They might very well do without 
Victoire, the cook, who was no longer very clean, on account of her 
great age; but she had seen her master born at his father’s—she 
was a family ruin which they respected. Then, as the maid returned 
with some baked apples: 

“Conduct irreproachable,” continued Madame Campardon in 
Octave’s ear. “ I have discovered nothing against her as yet. One 
holiday a month to go and embrace her old aunt, who lives some 
distance off. ” 

Octave observed Lisa. Seeing her nervous, flat-chested, blear- 
eyed, the thought came to him that she must go in for a precious 
fling when at her old aunt’s. However, he greatly approved what 
the mother said, as she continued to give him her views on educa¬ 
tion—a young girl is such a heavy responsibility, it is necessary to 
keep her clear even of the breaths of the street! And, during this, 
Ang61e, each time Lisa leant over near her chair to remove a plate, 
pinched her in a friendly way, whilst they both maintained their 
composure, without even moving an eyelid. 

“ One should be virtuous for one’s own sake,” said the architect 
learnedly, as though by way of conclusion to thoughts he had not 
expressed. “ I do not care a button for public opinion; I am an 
artist! ” 

After dinner, they remained in the drawing-room until midnight. 


POT-BOUILLE 


19 


It was a little jollification to celebrate Octave’s arrival. Madame 
Campardon appeared to be very tired; little by little she abandoned 
herself, leaning back on the sofa. 

“ Are you suffering, my darling ? ” asked her husband. 

“No,” replied she, in a low voice. “It is always the same 
thing. ” 

She looked at him, and then gently asked: 

“ Did you see her at the Hedouins’ ? ” 

“ Yes. She asked after you.” 

Tears came to Rose’s eyes. 

“ She is in good health, she is! ” 

“ Come, come, ” said the architect, showering little kisses on her 
hair, forgetting they were not alone. “ You will make yourself 
worse again. You know very well that I love you all the same, my 
poor pet! ” 

Octave, who had discreetly retired to the window, under the pre¬ 
tense of looking into the street, returned to study Madame Campar- 
don’s countenance, his curiosity again awakened, and wondering if 
she knew. But she had resumed her amiable and doleful expression, 
and was curled up in the depths of the sofa, like a woman who has 
to find her pleasure in herself, and who is forcibly resigned to receiv¬ 
ing the caresses that fall to her share. 

At length Octave wished them good-night. With his candlestick 
in his hand, he was still on the landing, when he heard the souud of 
silk dresses rustling over the stairs. He politely stood on one side. 
It was evidently the ladies of the fourth floor, Madame Josserand 
and her two daughters, returning from some party. As they passed, 
the mother, a superb and corpulent woman, stared in his face; 
whilst the elder of the young ladies kept at a distance with a sour 
air, and the younger giddily looked at him and laughed, in the full 
light of the candle. She was charming, this one, with her irregular 
but agreeable features, her clear complexion, and her auburn hair 
gilded with light reflections; and she had a bold grace, the free gait 
of a young bride returning from a ball in a complicated costume of 
ribbons and lace, like unmarried girls do not wear. The trains dis¬ 
appeared along the balustrade; a door closed. OctaVe lingered a 
moment, greatly amused by the gayety of her eyes. 

He slowly ascended in his turn. A single gas-jet was burning, 
the staircase was slumbering in a heavy warmth. It seemed to him 
more wrapped up in itself than ever, with its chaste doors, its doors 
of rich mahogany, closing the entrances to virtuous alcoves. Not a 
sigh passed along, it was the silence of well-mannered people who 
hold their breath. Presently a slight noise was heard; Octave leant 
over and beheld Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, turning 
out the last gas-jet. Then all subsided, the house became enveloped 
by the solemnity of darkness, as though annihilated in the distinc¬ 
tion and decency of its slumbers. 


20 


POT-BOUILLE 


CHAPTER II. 

When Madame Josserand, preceded by her young ladies, left the 
evening party given by Madame Dambreville, who resided on a 
fourth floor in the Rue de Rivoli, at the corner of the Rue de 
l’Oratoire, she roughly slammed the street door, in the sudden out¬ 
burst of a passion she had been keeping under for the past two 
hours. Berthe, her younger daughter, had again just gone and 
missed a husband. 

“ Well! what are you doing there ?” said she angrily to the young 
girls who were standing under the arcade and watching the cabs 
pass by. “ Walk on! don’t have any idea we are going to ride ! To 
waste another two francs, eh?” 

And as Hortense, the elder, murmured: 

“ It will be pleasant, with this mud. My shoes will never 
recover it.” 

“ Walk on! ” resumed the mother, all beside herself. “ When you 
have no more shoes, you can stop in bed, that’s all. A deal of good 
it is, taking you out! ” 

Berthe and Hortense bowed their heads, and turned into the Rue 
de l’Oratoire. They held their long skirts up as high as they could 
over their crinolines, squeezing their shoulders together and shivering 
under their thin opera cloaks. Madame Josserand followed behind, 
wrapped in an old fur cloak made of Calabar skins, looking as 
shabby as cats’. 

The young girls were crossing the Place du Palais-Royal, when a 
shower came on. It was a regular rout. They stopped, slipping, 
splashing, looking again at the vehicles passing empty along. 

“ Walk on! ” cried the mother, pitilessly. “ We are too near now; 
it is not worth two francs. And your brother Leon, who refused to 
leave with us for fear of having to pay for the cab ! So much the 
better for him if he gets what he wants at that lady’s, but we can 
say that it is not at all decent. A woman who is over fifty, and who 
only receives young men! An old nothing-much whom a high per¬ 
sonage married to that fool Dambreville, appointing him head 
clerk!” 

Hortense and Berthe trotted along in the rain, one before the 
other, without seeming to hear. When their mother thus eased 
herself, letting everything out, and forgetting the wholesome strict¬ 
ness with which she kept them, it was agreed that they should be 
deaf. Berthe, however, revolted on entering the gloomy and 
deserted Rue de l’Echelle. 

“Oh, dear!” said she, “the heel of my shoe is coming off. I 
cannot go a step further! ” 

Madame Josserand’s wrath became terrible. 

“ Just walk on! Do I complain? Is it my place to be out on the 


POT-BOUILLE 


21 


street at such a time and in such weather? It would he different if 
you had a father like others! But no, the fine gentleman stays at 
home taking his ease. It is always my turn to drag you about; he 
would never accept the burden. Well! I declare to you that I have 
had enough of it. Your father may take you out in future if he 
likes; may the devil have me if ever again I accompany you to 
houses where I am plagued like that! A man who deceived me as to 
his capacities, and who has never yet procured me the least pleasure! 
Ah! good heavens! there is one I would not marry now, if it were 
to come over again!” 

The young ladies no longer protested. They were already 
acquainted with this inexhaustible chapter of their mother’s 
blighted hopes. With their lace wraps drawn over their faces, 
their shoes sopping wet, they rapidly followed the Rue Sainte-Anne. 
But, in the Rue de Choiseul, at the very door of her house, a last 
humiliation awaited Madame Josserand: the Duveyriers’ carriage 
splashed her as it passed in. 

On the stairs the mother and the young ladies, worn out and 
enraged, recovered their gracefulness when they had to pass before 
Octave. Only, as soon as ever their door was closed behind them, 
they rushed through the dark apartment, knocking up against the 
furniture, and tumbled into the dining-room where Monsieur 
Josserand was writing by the feeble light of a little lamp. 

“ Failed ! ” cried Madame Josserand, letting herself fall onto a 
chair. 

And, with a rough gesture, she tore the lace wrap from her head, 
threw her fur cloak onto the back of her chair, and appeared in a 
flaring dress trimmed with black satin and cut very low in the neck, 
looking enormous, her shoulders still beautiful, and resembling a 
mare’s shining flanks. Her square face, with its drooping cheeks 
and too big nose, expressed the tragic fury of a queen restraining 
herself from descending to the use of coarse, vulgar expressions. 

“ Ah ! ” said Monsieur Josserand simply, bewildered by this 


violent entrance. 

He kept blinking his eyes, and was seized with uneasiness. His 
wife positively crushed him when she displayed that giant throat, 
the full weight of which he seemed to feel on the nape of his neck. 
Dressed in an old threadbare frock coat which he was finishing to 
wear out at home, his face looking as though tempered and expunged 
by thirty-five years spent at an office desk, he watched her for a 
moment with his big, lifeless blue eyes. Then, after thrusting his 
gray locks behind his ears, feeling very embarrassed and unable to 
find a word to say, he attempted to resume his work. 

“But you do not seem to understand!” resumed Madame 
Josserand in a shrill voice. “ I tell you that there is another 
marriage knocked on the head, and it is the fourth! ” 

“ Yes, yes; I know; the fourth,” murmured he. “ It is annoying, 
very annoying.” 

And, to escape from his wife’s terrifying nudity, he turned toward 


22 


POT-BOUILLE 


his daughters with a good-natured smile. They also were removing 
their lace wraps and their opera cloaks; the elder was in blue, and 
the younger in pink; their dresses, too, free in cut and over-trimmed, 
were like a provocation. 

“ It will do no good if you go on looking at us forever!” cried 
Madame Josserand. “ And, for God’s sake, put your writing away; 
it worries my nerves ! ” 

“ But, my dear, ” said he peacefully, “ I am addressing wrappers. ” 

“ Ah! yes, your wrappers at three francs a thousand! It is with 
those three francs that you hope to marry your daughters ?” 

Beneath the feeble light of the little lamp, the table was indeed 
covered with large sheets of coarse paper, printed wrappers, the 
blanks of which Monsieur Josserand filled in for a large publisher 
who had several periodicals. As his salary as cashier did not suffice, 
he passed whole nights at this unprofitable labor, working in secret, 
and seized with shame at the idea that any one might discover their 
penury. 

“Three francs are three francs,” replied he, in his slow, tired 
voice. “ Those three francs will enable you to add ribbons to your 
dresses, and to offer some pastry to your guests on your Tuesdays 
at home. ” 

He regretted his words as soon as he had uttered them; for he 
felt that they struck Madame Josserand full in the heart, in the 
most sensitive part of her wounded pride. A rush of blood purpled 
her shoulders; she seemed on the point of breaking out into 
revengeful utterances; then, by an effort of dignity, she merely 
stammered: 

“ Ah! good heavens! ah! good heavens!” 

And she looked at her daughters; she magisterially crushed her 
husband beneath a shrug of her terrible shoulders, as much as to 
say: “Eh! you heard him ? what an idiot! ” The daughters nodded 
their heads. Then, seeing himself beaten, and laying down his pen 
with regret, the father opened the “ Temps ” newspaper, which he 
brought home every evening from his office. 

“ Is Saturnin asleep f ” sharply inquired Madame Josserand, 
speaking of her younger son. 

“ Yes, long ago,” replied he. “ I also sent Ad61e to bed. And 
Leon, did you see him at the Dambrevilles’ ? ” 

“ Of course! ho sleeps there! ” she let out in a cry of rancor 
which she was unable to restrain. 

The father, surprised, naively added. 

“ Ah! you think so f ” 

Hortense and Berthe had become deaf again. They faintly 
smiled, however, affecting to be busy with their shoes, which were 
in a pitiful state. 

“ Well, are we going to bed ? ” asked Hortense. “ I am 
hungry.” 

“ Oh! and I too ! ” said Berthe. “ I am famishing.” 

“ What! you are hungry !” cried Madame Josserand, beside her- 


POT-BOUILLE 


23 


self. “ Did yon not eat any cake there, then ? What a couple of 
geese! You should have eaten some! I did. ” 

The young ladies resisted. They were hungry, they were feeling 
quite ill. So the mother accompanied them to the kitchen, to see 
if they could discover anything. 

“ What a stench there is here! ” cried Madame Josserand, on 
entering the kitchen. “ To think that I can never get that slut 
Adele to leave the window slightly open 1 She pretends that the 
room is so very cold in the morning. ” 

She went and opened the window, and from the narrow court¬ 
yard separating the kitchens there rose an icy dampness, the 
unsavory odor of a musty cellar. The candle which Berthe had 
lighted caused colossal shadows of naked shoulders to dance upon 
the wall. 

“ And what a state the place is in ! ” continued Madame Josser¬ 
and, sniffing about, and poking her nose into all the dirty corners. 
“ She has not scrubbed her table for a fortnight. Here are plates 
which have been waiting to be washed since the day before yester¬ 
day. On my word, it is disgusting! And her sink, just look ! smell 
it now, smell her sink ! ” 

Her rage was lashing itself. She tumbled the crockery about 
with her arms white with rice powder and bedecked with gold 
bangles; she trailed her flaring dress amidst the grease stains, 
catching it in cooking utensils thrown under the tables, risking her 
hardly earned luxury amongst the vegetable parings. At last the 
discovery of a notched knife made her anger break all bounds. 

“1 will turn her into the street to-morrow morning! ” 

11 You will be no better off,” quietly remarked Hortense. “We 
are never able to keep any one. This is the first who has stayed 
three months. The moment they begin to get a little decent and 
know how to make melted butter, off they go.” 

Madame Josserand bit her lips. As a matter of fact, Ad&le alone, 
stupid and lousy, and only lately arrived from her native Brittany, 
could put up with the ridiculously vain penury of these middle-class 
people, who took advantage of her ignorance and slovenliless to 
half starve her. 

“ I can’t discover anything ! ” murmured Berthe, who was rum¬ 
maging a cupboard. 

The shelves had the melancholy emptiness and the false luxury of 
families where inferior meat is purchased so as to be able to put 
flowers on the table. 

“ But she has gone and eaten all the rabbit! ” cried Madame Jos¬ 
serand. 

“ True,” said Hortense, “ there was the tail-piece. Ah! no, here 
it is. It would have surprised me if she had dared. I shall stick to 
it, you know. It is cold, but it is better than nothing! ” 

Berthe, on her side, was rummaging about, but without result. 
At length her hand encountered a bottle, in which her mother had 
diluted the contents of an old pot of jam, so as to manufacture 


24 


POT-BOUILLE 


some red currant syrup for her evening parties. She poured herself 
out half a glass, saying : 

“ Ah! an idea! I will soak some bread in this, as it is all there 
is! ” 

But Madame Josserand, all anxiety, looked at her sternly. 

“ Pray, don’t restrain yourself, fill your glass whilst you are about 
it! It will be quite sufficient if I offer water to the ladies and gen¬ 
tlemen to-morrow, will it not? ” 

Fortunately, the discovery of another of Ad&le’s evil doings inter¬ 
rupted her reprimand. She was still turning about, searching for 
crimes, when she caught sight of a volume on the table; and then 
occurred a supreme explosion. 

“ Oh ! the beast! she has again brought my Lamartine into the 
kitchen! ” 

It was a copy of “ Jocelyn.” She took it up and rubbed it hard, 
as though dusting it; and she kept repeating that she had twenty 
times forbidden her to leave it lying about in that way, to write her 
accounts upon. Bertha and Hortense, meanwhile, had shared the 
little piece of bread which remained; then, carrying their suppers 
away with them, they said that they would undress first. The 
mother gave the icy-cold stove a last glance, and returned to the 
dining-room, tightly holding her Lamartine beneath the massive 
flesh of her arm. 

Monsieur Josserand continued writing. He trusted that his wife 
would be satisfied with crushing him with a glance of contempt as 
she crossed the room to go to bed. But she again dropped onto a 
chair, facing him, and looked at him fixedly without speaking. He 
felt this look, and was seized with such uneasiness that his pen kept 
sputtering on the flimsy wrapper paper. 

“ So it was you who prevented Ad61e making a cream for to-mor¬ 
row evening? ” said she at length. 

He raised his head in amazement. 

“ I, my dear! ” 

“ Oh! you will again deny it, as you always do. Then, why has 
she not made the cream I ordered I You know very well that before 
our party to-morrow uncle Bachelard is coming to dinner ; it is his 
saint’s-day, which is very awkward, happening as it does on my 
reception day. If there is no cream, we must have an ice, and that 
will be another five francs squandered! ” 

He did not attempt to exculpate himself. Not daring to resume 
his work, he began to play with his penholder. There was a brief 
pause. 

“ To-morrow morning, ” resumed Madame Josserand, “you will 
oblige me by calling on the Campardons, and reminding them very 
politely, if you can, that we are expecting to see them in the 
evening. Their young man arrived this afternoon. Ask them to 
bring him with them. Do you understand? I wish him to 
come.” 

“ What young man? ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


25 


“ A young man; it would take too long to explain everything to 
you. I have obtained all necessary information about him. I am 
obliged to try everything, as you leave your daughters entirely to 
me, like a bundle of rubbish, without occupying yourself about 
marrying them any more than about marrying the Grand Turk. ” 

The thought revived her anger. 

“ You see, I contain myself, but it is more, oh! it is more than I 
can stand ! Say nothing, sir, say nothing, or really my anger will 
get the better of me. ” 

He said nothing, but she vented her wrath upon him all the 
same. 

“ It has become unbearable! I warn you, that one of these morn¬ 
ings I shall go off, and leave you here with your two idiotic daugh¬ 
ters. Was I born to live such a skinflint life as this? Always cut¬ 
ting farthings into four, never even having a decent pair of boots, 
and not being able to receive my friends decently! And all that 
through your fault! Ah! do not shake your head, do not exasperate 
me more than I am already! Yes, your fault! You deceived me, 
sir, basely deceived me. One should not marry a woman when one 
is decided to let her want for everything. You played the boaster, 
you pretended you had a fine future before you, you were the friend 
of your employer’s sons, of those brothers Bernheim, who, since, 
have merely made a fool of you. What! You dare to pretend that 
they have not made a fool of you! But you ought to be their partner 
by now! It is you who made their business what it is, one of the 
first glass-houses in Paris, and you have remained their cashier, a 
subordinate, a hireling. Really! you have no spirit; hold your 
tongue. ” 

“ I get eight thousand francs a year, ” murmured the cashier. “ It 
is a very good berth.” 

“ A good berth, after more than thirty years’ labor ! ” resumed 
Madame Josserand. “ They grind you down, and you are delighted. 
Do you know what I would have done, had I been in your place ? 
well! I would have put the business into my pocket twenty times 
over. It was so easy. I saw it when I married you, and since then I 
have never ceased advising you to do so. But it required some ini¬ 
tiative and intelligence; it was a question of not going to sleep on 
your leather-covered stool, like a blockhead.” 

“ Come,” interrupted Monsieur Josserand, “ are you going to re¬ 
proach me with being honest? ” 

She jumped up, and advanced toward him, flourishing her Lamar¬ 
tine. 

“ Honest! in what way do you mean? Begin by being honest 
toward me. Others do not count till afterward, I hope! ” 

She was walking violently about. He could not restrain a slight 
sign of impatience, in spite of his great desire for peace. 

u You would do better to go to bed, Eleonore, ” said he. u It is 
past one o’clock, and I assure you this work is pressing. My family 
has done you no harm, so do not speak of it.” 


26 


POT-BOUILLE 


“Ah! and why, pray? Yonr family is no more sacred than 
another, I suppose. Every one at Clermont knows that your father, 
after selling his business of solicitor, let himself be ruined by a serv¬ 
ant. You might have seen your daughters married long ago, had 
he not taken up with a strumpet when over seventy. There is 
another who has swindled me! ” 

Monsieur Josserand turned pale. He replied, in a trembling voice, 
which rose higher as he went on: 

“ Listen, do not let us throw our relations at each other’s heads. 
Your father never paid me your dowry, the thirty thousand francs 
he promised. ” 

“ Eh ? what ? thirty thousand francs ! ” 

“ Exactly; don’t pretend to be surprised. And if my father met 
with misfortunes, yours behaved in a most disgraceful way toward 
us. I was never able to find out clearly what he left. There were 
all sorts of underhand dealings, so that the school in the Rue des 
Foss6s-Saint-Victor should remain with your sister’s husband, that 
shabby usher who no longer recognizes us now. We were robbed as 
though in a wood.” 

Madame Josserand, now ghastly white, was choking with rage 
before her husband’s inconceivable revolt. 

“ Do not say a word against papa! For forty years he was a 
credit to instruction. Go and talk of the Bachelard Academy in 
the neighborhood of the Pantheon ! And as for my sister and my 
brother-in-law, they are what they are. They have robbed me, I 
know; but it is not for you to say so. I will not permit it, under¬ 
stand that! Do I speak to you of your sister, who eloped with an 
officer ? Oh ! you have indeed some nice relations! ” 

“ An officer who married her, madame. There is uncle Bache¬ 
lard, too, your brother, a man totally destitute of all morality-” 

“ But you are becoming cracked, sir! He is rich, he earns what 
he pleases as a commission merchant, and he has promised to pro¬ 
vide Berthe’s dowry. Do you, then, respect nothing ? ” 

“Ah! yes, provide Berthe’s dowry! Will you bet that he will 
give you a sou, and that we shall not have had to put up with his 
nasty habits for nothing? We have never yet been favored with a 
single present from him. ” 

Madame Josserand, catching her breath, was wrapped for a mo¬ 
ment in thought. Then she uttered this last cry: 

“ And you have a nephew in the police, sir! ” 

A tresh pause ensued. The light from the little lamp was becom¬ 
ing dimmer, wrappers were flying about Monsieur Josserand’s fever¬ 
ish gestures; and he looked his wife full in the face — his wife in 
her low-neck dress — determined to say everything, and quivering 
with courage. 

“ With eight thousand francs a year one can do many things, ” 
resumed he. “ You are always complaining. But you should not 
have arranged your housekeeping on a footing superior to our means. 


POT-BOUILLE 


27 


It is your mania for receiving and for paying visits, of having your 
at homes, of giving tea and pastry-” 

She did not let him finish. 

“Now we have come to it! Shut me up in a box at once. 
Reproach me for not walking out as naked as my hand. And your 
daughters, sir, who will marry them if we never see any one ? We 
don’t see many people as it is. It does well to sacrifice oneself, to 
be judged afterward with such meanness of heart! ” 

“We have all of us, madame, sacrificed ourselves. Leon had to 
make way for his sisters; and he left the house to earn his own 
living without any assistance from us. As for Saturnin, poor child, 
he does not even know how to read. And I deny myfeelf everything j 
I pass my nights-” 

“ Why did you have daughters, then, sir? You are surely not 
going to reproach them with their education, I hope ? Any other 
man in your place would be proud of Hortense’s diploma and of 
Berthe’s talents. The dear child again delighted every one this 
evening with her waltz, the 1 Banks of the Oise,’ and her last paint¬ 
ing will certainly enchant our guests to-morrow. But you, sir, you 
are not even a father; you would have sent your children to take 
cows to grass, instead of sending them to school. ” 

“ Well! I took out an assurance for Berthe’s benefit. Was it not 
you, madame, who, when the fourth payment became due, made 
use of the money to cover the drawing-room furniture? And, 
since then, you have even negotiated the premiums that had been 
paid. ” 

“ Of course! as you leave us to die of hunger. Ah! you may 
indeed bite your fingers if your daughters become old maids.” 

“ Bite my fingers! But, Jove’s thunder! it is you who frighten 
the likely men away with your dresses and your ridiculous 
parties! ” 

Never before had Monsieur Josserand gone so far. Madame 
Josserand, suffocating, stammered forth the words: I—I ridicu¬ 
lous ! ” when the door opened. Hortense and Berthe were return¬ 
ing, in their petticoats and little calico jackets, their hair let down, 
and their feet in old slippers. 

“ Ah, well! it is too cold in our room! ” said Berthe shivering. 
“ The food freezes in your mouth. Here, at least, there has been a 
fire this evening. ” 

And both dragging their chairs along the floor, seated themselves 
close to the stove, which still retained a little warmth. Hortense 
held her rabbit bone in the tips of her fingers, and was skillfully 
picking it. Berthe dipped pieces of bread in her glass of syrup. 
The parents, however, were so excited that they did not even appear 
to notice their arrival. They continued: 

“ Ridiculous —ridiculous, sir! I shall not be ridiculous again! 
Let my head be cut off if I wear out another pair of gloves in trying 
to get the husbands. It is your turn now! And try not to be more 
ridiculous than I have been! ” 



28 


POT-BOUILLE 


u I daresay, madame, now that you have exhibited them and com¬ 
promised them everywhere! Whether you marry them or whether 
you don’t, I don’t care a button! ” 

11 And I care less, Monsieur Josserand! I care so little that I will 
bundle them out into the street if you aggravate me much more. 
And if you have a mind to, you can follow them, the door is open. 
Ah, heavens! what a good riddance! ” 

The young ladies quietly listened, used to these lively recrimina¬ 
tions. They were still eating, their little jackets dropping from their 
shoulders, and their bare skin gently rubbing against the lukewarm 
earthenware of the stove; and they looked charming in this undress, 
with their youth and their hearty appetites and their eyes heavy 
with sleep. 

“ You are very foolish to quarrel,” at length observed Hortense, 
with her mouth full. “ Mamma only spoils her temper, and papa 
will be ill again to-morrow at his office. It seems to me that we 
are old enough to be able to find husbands for ourselves. ” 

This created a diversion. The father, thoroughly exhausted, 
made a feint of returning to his wrappers; and he sat with his nose 
over the paper, unable to write, his hands trembling violently. The 
mother, who had been moving about the room like an escaped 
lioness, went and planted herself in front of Hortense. 

“ If you are speaking for yourself,” cried she, “ you are a great 
ninny! Your Verdier will never marry you. ” 

“ That is my business,” boldly replied the young girl. 

After having contemptuously refused five or six suitors, a little 
clerk, the son of a tailor, and other young fellows whose prospects 
she did not consider good enough, she had ended by setting her cap 
at a barrister, whom she had met at the Dambrevilles’, and who was 
already turned forty. She considered him very clever, and destined 
to make a name in the world. But the misfortune was that for fif¬ 
teen years past Verdier had been living with a mistress, who in the 
neighborhood even passed for his wife. She knew of this, though, 
and by no'means let it trouble her. 

u My child, ” said the father, raising his hand once more, 11 1 
begged you not to think of this marriage. You know the situation. ” 
She stopped sucking her bone, and said, with an air of impatience: 
“ What of it? Verdier has promised me he will leave her. She 
is a fool. ” 

“ You are wrong, Hortense, to speak in that way. And, if he 
should also leave you one day to return to, her whom you would have 
caused him to abandon ? ” 

“ That is my business,” sharply retorted the young woman. 
Berthe listened, fully acquainted with this matter, the contingen¬ 
cies of which she discussed daily with her sister. She was, besides, 
like her father, all in favor of the poor woman whom it was pro¬ 
posed to turn out into the street after having performed a wife’s 
duties for fifteen years. But Madame Josserand intervened: 

“ Leave off, do! those wretched women always end by returning 


POT-BOUILLE 


29 


to the gutter. Only, it is Verdier who will never bring himself to 
leave her. He is fooling you, my dear. In your place, I would not 
wait a second for him; I would try and find some one else.” 

Hortense’s voice became sourer still, whilst two livid spots 
appeared on her cheeks. 

“ Mamma, you know how I am. I want him, and I will have him. 
I will never marry any one else, even though he kept me waiting a 
hundred years.” 

The mother shrugged her shoulders. 

“ And you call others fools! ” 

But the young girl rose up, quivering with rage. 

“ Here ! don’t go pitching into me! ” cried she. “ I have finished 
my rabbit. I prefer to go to bed. As you are unable to find us hus¬ 
bands, you must let us find them in our own way. ” 

And she withdrew, violently slamming the door behind her. 
Madame Josserand turned majestically toward her husband, and 
uttered this profound remark: 

“ That, sir, is the result of your bringing up! ” 

She stopped before Berthe, and, menacing her with her finger, 
said: 

“ As for you, if you follow your sister’s example, you will have me 
to deal with. ” 

Then she recommenced stamping round the room, speaking to 
herself, jumping from one idea to another, contradicting herself with 
the brazenness of a woman who will always be in the right. 

“ I did what I ought to do, and, were it to be done over again, I 
should do the same. In life, it is only the most shamefaced who 
lose. Money is money; when one has none, one may as well retire. 
Whenever I had twenty sous, I always said I had forty; for that is 
real wisdom; it is better to be envied than pitied. It is no use hav¬ 
ing a good education if one has not good clothes to wear, for then 
people despise you. It is not just, but it is so. I would sooner wear 
dirty petticoats than a cotton dress. Feed on potatoes, but have a 
chicken when you have any one to dinner. And only fools would 
say the contrary! ” 

She looked fixedly at her husband, to whom these last reflections 
were addressed. The latter, worn out, and declining another battle, 
had the cowardice to declare: 

“ It is true; money is everything in our days.” 

“ You hear,” resumed Madame Josserand, returning toward her 
daughter. “ Go straight ahead and try to give us satisfaction. How 
is it you let this marriage fall through ? ” 

Berthe understood that her turn had come. 

“ I don’t know, mamma, ” murmured she. 

“A second head-clerk in a government office,” continued the 
mother; “ not yet thirty, with a splendid future before him. Every 
month he would be bringing you his money; it is something sub¬ 
stantial that; there is nothing like it. You have been up to some 
tomfoolery again, just the same as with the others.” 


30 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ I have not, mamma, I assure you. He must have obtained some 
information — have heard that I had no money.” 

But Madame Josserand cried out at this: 

“ And the dowry that your uncle is going to give you! Every one 
knows about that dowry. No, there is something else; he withdrew 
too abruptly. When dancing you passed into the parlor. 77 

Berthe became confused. 

“ Yes, mamma. And, as we were alone, he attempted to do some 
naughty things; he kissed me, seizing hold of me like that. Then 
I was frightened; I pushed him up against the furniture- 77 

Her mother, again overcome with rage, interrupted her. 

“ Pushed him up against the furniture! ah, the wretched girl 
pushed him up against the furniture ! 77 

“ But, mamma., he held me-— 77 

“ What of it ? He held you; that was nothing! A fat lot of good 
it is sending such fools to school! Whatever did they teach you, 
eh? 77 

A rush of color rose to the young girl’s cheeks and shoulders. 
Tears filled her eyes, whilst she looked as confused as a violated 
virgin. 

“ It was not my fault; he looked so wicked. I did not know what 
to do. 77 

“ Did not know what to do! she did not know what to do ! Have 
I not told you a hundred times that your fears are ridiculous ? It is 
your lot to live in society. When a man is rough, it is because he 
loves you, and there is always a way of keeping him in his place in 
a nice manner. For a kiss behind a door! in truth, now, ought you 
to mention such a thing to us, your parents f And you push" people 
against the furniture, and you drive away your suitors! 77 

She assumed a doctoral air as she continued: 

“ It is ended; I despair of doing anything with you. You are too 
stupid, my girl. One would have to coach you in everything, and 
that would be awkward. As you have no fortune, understand, at 
least, that you must hook the men by some other means. One should 
be amiable, have loving eyes, abandon one’s hand occasionally, allow 
a little playfulness, without seeming to do so; in short, one should 
angle for a husband. You make a great mistake if you think it 
improves your eyes to cry like a fool! 77 

Berthe w r as sobbing. 

“ You aggravate me — leave off crying. Monsieur Josserand, just 
tell your daughter not to spoil her face by crying in that way. It 
will be too much if she becomes ugly! 77 

“My child, 77 said the father, “be reasonable; listen to your 
mother’s good advice. You must not spoil your good looks, my 
darling. 77 

“ And what irritates me is, that she is not so bad when she likes, 77 
resumed Madame Josserand. “ Come, wipe your eyes; look at me 
as if I was a gentleman courting you. You smile, you drop your 
fan, so that the gentleman, in picking it up, slightly touches your 




POT-BOUILLE 


31 


fingers. That is not the way! You are holding your head up too 
stiffly; you look like a sick hen. Lean back more; show your neck; 
it is too young to be hidden. ” 

“ Then like this, mamma? ” 

“ Yes, that is better. And never be stiff; be supple. Men do not 
care for planks. And, above all, if they go too far, do not play the 
simpleton. A man who goes too far is done for, my dear.” 

The drawing-room clock struck two; and, in the excitement of 
that prolonged vigil; in her desire, now become furious, for an imme¬ 
diate marriage, the mother forgot herself in thinking out loud, mak¬ 
ing her daughter turn about like a papier-mache doll. The latter, 
without spirit or will, abandoned herself; but she felt very heavy at 
heartfear and shame brought a lump to her throat. Suddenly, in 
the midst of a silvery laugh which her mother was forcing her to 
attempt, she burst into sobs, her face all upset: 

u No! no! it pains me! ” stammered she. 

For a second, Madame Josserand remained incensed and amazed. 
Ever since she left the Dambrevilles\ her hand had been itching; 
there were slaps in the air. Then she landed Berthe a clout with 
all her might. 

“ Take that! you are too aggravating ! What a fool! On my 
word, the men are right! ” 

In the shock, her Lamartine, which she had kept under her arm, 
fell to the floor. She picked it up, wiped it, and, without adding 
another word, she retired into the bed-room, royally drawing her 
ball dress around her. 

“ It was bound to end thus,” murmured Monsieur Josserand, not 
taring to detain his daughter, who went off also, holding her cheek, 
and crying louder than ever. 

But, as Berthe felt her way across the ante-room, she found her 
brother Saturnin up, barefooted and listening. Saturnin was a big, 
ill-formed fellow of twenty-five, with wild-looking eyes, and who 
had remained childish after an attack of brain fever. Without 
being mad, he terrified the household by attacks of blind violence 
whenever he was thwarted. Berthe, alone, was able to subdue him 
with a look. He had nursed her when she was still quite a child, 
through a long illness, obedient as a dog to her little invalid girl’s. 
caprices ; and, ever since he had saved her, he w3s seized with an 
adoration for her, into which entered every kind of love. 

“ Has she been beating you again ? ” asked he, in a low and ardent 
voice. 

Berthe, uneasy at finding him there, tried to send him away. 

“ Go to bed, it is nothing to do with you.” 

“ Yes, it is. I will not have her beat you! She woke me up, she 
was shouting so. She had better not try it on again, or I will strike 
her! ” 

Then she seized him by the wrists, and spoke to him as to a dis¬ 
obedient animal. He submitted at once, and stuttered, crying like 
a little boy: 


32 


POT-BOUILLE 


11 It hurts you very much, does it not? Where is the sore place, 
that I may kiss it ? ” 

And, having found her cheek in the dark, he kissed it, wetting it 
with his tears, as he repeated : 

“ It is well now, it is well now. ” 

Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, left alone, hadiaid down his pen, 
his heart was so full of grief. At the end of a few minutes he got 
up gently to go and listen at the doors. Madame Josserand was 
snoring. No sounds of crying issued from his daughters’ room'. 
All was dark and peaceful. Then he returned, feeling slightly 
relieved. He saw to the lamp, which was smoking, and mechanically 
resumed his writing. Two big tears, unfelt by him, dropped onto 
the wrappers, in the solemn silence of the slumbering house. 


CHAPTER III. 

So soon as the fish were served, skate of doubtful freshness with 
black butter, which that bungler Adele had drowned in a flood of 
vinegar, Hortense and Berthe, seated on the right and left of uncle 
Bachelard, incited him to drink, filling his glass one after the other, 
repeating: 

u It’s your saint’s-day, drink now, drink! Here’s your health, 
uncle! ” 

They had plotted together to make him give them twenty francs. 
Every year, their provident mother placed them thus on either side 
of her brother, abandoning him to them. But it was a diffi¬ 
cult task, and required all the greediness of two girls prompted by 
dreams of Louis XV. shoes and five-button gloves. To get him to 
give the twenty francs, it was necessary to make the uncle com¬ 
pletely drunk. He was ferociously miserly whenever he found him¬ 
self amongst his relations, though out of doors he squandered in 
crapulous boozes the eighty thousand francs he made each year out 
of his commission business. Fortunately, that evening, he was 
already half fuddled when he arrived, having passed the afternoon 
with the wife of a dyer of the Faubourg Montmartre, who kept a 
stock of Marseilles vermouth expressly for him. 

“ Your health, my little ducks! ” replied he each time, with his 
thick, husky voice, as he emptied his glass. 

Covered with jewelry, a rose in his button-hole, enormous in 
build, he filled the middle of the table, with his broad shoulders of 
aboozing and brawling tradesman who has wallowed in every vice. 

“ Narcisse, a little skate, I can recommend it,” said Madame Jos¬ 
serand, smiling at her brother’s tipsy condition, though at heart it 
made her feel rather disgusted. 

After the fish came a meat pie, and the young ladies thought the 
moment arrived to commence their attack. 



POT-BOUILLE 


33 


u Take another glass, uncle! ” said Hortense. “ It is your saint’s- 
day. Don’t you give anything when it is your saint’s-day ? ” 

“Dear me! why of course,” added Berthe, naively. “People 
always give something on their saint’s-day. You must give us 
twenty francs.” 

On hearing them speak of money, Bachelard at once exag^ 
gerated his tipsy condition. It was his usual dodge; his eye-lids 
dropped, and he became quite idiotic. 

“ Hey? what? ” stuttered he. 

“ Twenty francs. You know very well what twenty francs are, it 
is no use your pretending you don’t, ” resumed Berthe. “Give us 
twenty francs, and we will love you, oh! we will love you so much !” 

They threw their arms round his neck, called him the most 
endearing names, and kissed his intlamed face without the least 
repugnance for the horrid odor of debauchery which he exhaled. 
Monsieur Josserand, whom these continual fumes of absinthe, 
tobacco and musk upset, had a feeling of disgust on seeing his 
daughters’ virgin charms rubbing up against those infamies gathered 
in the vilest places. 

“ Leave him alone ! ” cried he. 

“ Why ? ” asked Madame Josserand, giving her husband a terri¬ 
ble look. “ They are amusing themselves. If Narcisse wishes to 
give them twenty francs, he is quite at liberty to do so.” 

“ Monsieur Bachelard is so good to them ! ” complacently mur¬ 
mured little Madame Juzeur. 

But the uncle struggled, becoming more idiotic than ever, and 
repeating, with his mouth full of saliva: 

“ It’s funny. I don’t know, word of honor ! I don’t know.” 

Then, Hortense and Berthe, exchanging a glance, released him. 
No doubt he had not had enough to drink. And they again 
resorted to filling his glass, laughing like courtesans who intend rob¬ 
bing a man. Their bareness, of an adorable youthful plumpness, 
kept passing every minute under the uncle’s big, flaming nose. 

Meanwhile, Trublot, like a quiet fellow who takes his pleasures 
alone, was watching Adele as she turned heavily round the table. 
Being very short-sighted, he thought her pretty, with her pro¬ 
nounced Breton features and her hair the color of dirty hemp. 
When she brought in the roast, a piece of veal, she leant right over 
his shoulder, to reach the center of the table ; and he, pretending 
to pick up his napkin, gave her a good pinch on the calf of the leg. 
The servant, not 1 understanding, looked at him as though he had 
asked her for some bread. 

“ What is it ? ” said Madame Josserand. “ Did she knock 
against you, sir? Oh! that girl! she is so awkward! But you 
know she is quite new to the work; she will be better when she has 
had a little training. ” 

“ No doubt, there is no harm done, ” replied Trublot, stroking his 
bushy black beard with the serenity of a young Indian god. 

Pot-Bouille 3 


34 


POT-BOUILLE 


The uncle was indeed losing ground. When, after the vegetables, 
French bean swimming in water, Adele placed a vanilla and currant 
ice on the table, it caused unexpected delight amongst the guests ; 
and the young ladies took advantage of the situation to make the 
uncle drink half of the bottle of champagne which Madame 
Josserand had bought for three francs of a neighboring grocer. He 
was becoming quite affectionate, and forgetting his pretended 
idiocy. 

“Eh, twenty francs! Why twenty francs? Ah! you want 
twenty francs! But I have not got them, really now. Ask G-ueulin. 
Is it not true, G-ueulin, that I forgot my purse, and that you had to 
pay'at the cafe ? If I had them, my little ducks, I would give them 
to you, you are so nice. 77 

Gueulin was laughing in his cool way, making a noise like a 
pulley that required greasing. And he murmured: 

“ The old swindler! 77 

Then suddenly, unable to restrain himself, he cried : 

“ Search him! 77 

So Hortense and Berthe again threw themselves on the uncle, this 
time without the least restraint. The desire for the twenty francs, 
which their good education had hitherto kept within bounds, bereft 
them of their senses in the end, and they forgot everything else. 
The one, with both hands, examined his waist-coat pockets, whilst 
the other buried her fingers inside the pockets of his frock coat. 
The uncle, however, pressed back on his chair, still struggled; but 
he gradually burst out into a laugh—a laugh broken by drunken 
hiccoughs. 

“ On my word of honor, I haven 7 t a sou! Leave off, do; you 7 re 
tickling me. 77 

“ In the trousers! 77 energetically exclaimed Gueulin, excited by 
the spectacle. 

And Berthe resolutely searched one of the trouser pockets. 
Their hands trembled; they were both becoming exceedingly rough, 
and could have smacked the uncle. But Berthe uttered a cry of 
victory: from the depths of the pocket she brought forth a handful 
of money, which she spread out in a plate; and there, amongst a 
heap of coppers and pieces of silver, was a twenty-franc piece. 

“ I have it! 77 said she, her face all red, her hair undone, as she 
tossed the coin in the air and caught it again. 

There was a general clapping of hands, every one thought it very 
funny. It created quite a hubbub, and was the success of the 
dinner. Madame Josserand looked at her daughters with a mother's 
tender smile. The uncle, who was gathering up his money, sen- 
tentiously observed that, when one wanted twenty francs, one 
should earn them. And the young ladies, worn out and satisfied, 
were panting on his right and left, their lips still trembling in the 
enervation of their desire. 

A bell was heard to ring. They had been eating slowly, and the 
other guests were already arriving. Monsieur Josserand, who had 


POT-BOUILLE 35 

decided to laugh like his wife, enjoyed singing some of Beranger’s 
songs at table; but as this outraged his better half’s poetic tastes, 
she compelled him to keep quiet. She got the dessert over as 
quickly as possible, more especially as, since the forced present of 
twenty francs, the uncle had been trying to pick a quarrel, com¬ 
plaining that his nephew, Leon, had not deigned to put himself out 
to come and wish him many happy returns of the day. Leon was 
only coming to the evening party. At length, as they were rising 
from table, Ad61e said that the architect from the floor below and a 
young man were in the drawing-room. 

“ Ah ! yes, that young man,” murmured Madame Juzuer, accept¬ 
ing Monsieur Josserand’s arm. “ So you have invited him■? I saw 
him talking to the doorkeeper. He is very good-looking. ” 

Madame Josserand was taking Trublot’s arm, when Saturnin, 
who had been left by himself at the table, and who had not been 
roused from slumbering with his eyes open by all the uproar about 
the twenty francs, kicked back his chair, in a sudden outburst of 
fury, shouting: 

“ I won’t have it, damnation! I won’t have it! ” 

It was the very thing his mother always dreaded. She signaled 
to Monsieur Josserand to take Madame Juzeur away. Then she 
freed herself from Trublot, who understood, and disappeared; but 
he probably made a mistake, for he went off in the direction of the 
kitchen, close upon Adele’s heels. Bachelard and Gueulin, without 
troubling themselves about the maniac, as they called him, chuckled 
in a corner, whilst playfully slapping one another. 

u He was so peculiar, I felt there would be something this even¬ 
ing,” murmured Madame Josserand, uneasily. “Berthe, come 
quick! ” 

But Berthe was showing the twenty-franc piece to Hortense. 
Saturnin had caught up a knife. He repeated: 

“ Damnation! I won’t have it! I’ll rip their stomachs open! ” 

“ Berthe! ” called her mother in despair. 

And, when the young girl hastened to the spot, she only just had 
time to seize him by the hand and prevent him from entering the 
drawing-room. She shook him angrily, whilst he tried to explain, 
with his madman’s logic. 

“ Let me be, I must settle them. I tell you it’s best. I’ve had 
enough of their dirty ways. They’ll sell the whole lot of us. ” 

11 Oh! this is too much! ” cried Berthe. “ What is the matter 
with you % what are you talking about? ” 

He looked at her in a bewildered way, trembling with a gloomy 
rage, and stuttered: 

“ They’re going to marry you again. Never, you hear ! I won’t 
have you hurt.” 

The young girl could not help laughing. Where had he got the 
idea from they were going to marry her ? But he nodded his head: 
he knew it, he felt it. And as his mother intervened to try and 
calm him, he grasped his knife so tightly that she drew back. How- 


36 


POT-BOUILLK 


ever, she trembled for fear that he should be overheard, and hastily 
told Berthe to take him away and lock him in his room; whilst he, 
becoming crazier than ever, raised his voice : 

“ I won’t have you married, I won’t have you hurt. If they marry 
you, I’ll rip their stomachs open. ” 

Then Berthe put her hands on his shoulders, and looked him 
straight in the face. 

“ Listen,” said she, “ keep quiet, or I will not love you any more.” 

He staggered, despair softened the expression of his face, his eyes 
filled with tears. 

11 You won’t love me any more, you won’t love me any more. 
Don’t say that. Oh! I implore you, say that you will love me still, 
say that you will love me always, and that you will never love any 
one else.” 

She had seized him by the wrist, and she led him away as gentle 
as a child. 

In the drawing-room, Madame Josserand, exaggerating her inti¬ 
macy, called Campardon her dear neighbor. Why had Madame 
Campardon not done her the great pleasure of coming also ? and, 
on the architect replying that his wife still continued poorly, she 
exclaimed that they would have been delighted to have received her 
in her dressing-gown and her slippers. But her smile never left 
Octave, who was conversing with Monsieur Josserand; all her 
amiability was directed toward him, over Campardon’s shoulder. 
When her husband introduced the young man to her, her cordiality 
was so great that the latter felt quite uncomfortable. 

Other guests were arriving; stout mothers with skinny daughters, 
fathers and uncles scarcely roused from their office drowsiness, 
pushing before them flocks of marriageable young ladies. 

After each ring at the bell, the sound of whispering issued from 
the ante-chamber. They conversed in low tones in the gloomy 
drawing-room, where the forced laugh of some young lady jarred at 
times like a false note. Behind little Madame Juzeur, Bachelard 
and Gueulin were nudging each other, and making smutty remarks; 
and Madame Josserand watched them with an alarmed look, for 
she dreaded her brother’s vulgar behavior. •*. 

Berthe at length appeared, and went hurriedly up to her mother. 

“ Ah, well! I have had a deal of trouble ! ” whispered she in her 
ear. “ He would not go to bed, so I double-locked the door. But I 
am afraid he will break everything in the room.” 

Madame Josserand violently tugged at her dress. Octave, who 
was close to them, had turned his head. 

“ My daughter, Berthe, Monsieur Mouret,” said she, in her most 
gracious manner, as she introduced them. “ Monsieur Octave 
Mouret, my darling. ” 

And she looked at her daughter. The latter was well acquainted 
with this look, which was like an order to clear for action, and which 
recalled to her the lessons of the night before. She at once obeyed, 
with the complaisance and the indifference of a girl who no longer 


POT-BOUILLE 


37 


stops to examine the person she is to marry. She prettily recited 
her little part with the easy grace of a Parisian already weary of the 
world, and acquainted with every subject, and she talked enthusi¬ 
astically of the South, where she had never been. Octave, used to 
the stiffness of provincial virgins, was delighted with this little 
woman's cackle and her sociable manner. 

Presently, Trublot, who had not been seen since dinner was over, 
entered stealthily from the dining-room; and Berthe, catching sight 
of him, asked thoughtlessly where he had been. He remained silent, 
at which she felt very confused; then, to put an end to the awkward 
pause which ensued, she introduced the two young men to each 
other. Her mother had not taken her eyes off her; she had assumed 
the attitude of a commander-in-chief, and directed the campaign 
from the easy-chair in which she had settled herself. When she 
judged that the first engagement had given all the result that could 
have been expected from it, she recalled her daughter with a sign, 
and said to her, in a low voice: 

“Wait till the Yabres are here before commencing your music. 
And play loud. " 

Octave, left alone with Trublot, began to engage him in 
conversation. 

“ A charming person." 

“ Yes; not bad." 

“ The young lady in blue is her eldest sister, is she not ? She is 
not so good-looking." 

u Of course not; she is thinner!" 

Trublot, who looked without seeing with his near-sighted eyes, 
had the broad shoulders of a solid male, obstinate in his tastes. He 
had come back from the kitchen perfectly satisfied, crunching little 
black things which Octave recognized with surprise to be coffee 
berries. 

“ I say," asked he abruptly, “ the women are plump in the South, 
are they not f " 

Octave smiled, and at once became on an excellent footing with 
Trublot. They had many ideas in common which brought them 
closer together. They exchanged confidences on an out-of-the-way 
sofa; the one talked of his employer at “ The Ladies' Paradise," 
Madame Hedouin, a confoundedly fine woman, but too cold; the 
other said he had been put onto the correspondence, from nine to 
five, at his stock broker's, Monsieur Desmarquay, where there was a 
stunning maidservant. Just then the drawing-room door opened, 
and three persons entered. 

“ They are the Yabres," murmured Trublot, bending over toward 
his new friend. “ Auguste, the tall one, he who has a face like a 
sick sheep, is the landlord’s eldest son — thirty-three years old, ever 
suffering from headaches which make his eyes start from his head, 
and which, some years ago, prevented him from continuing to learn 
Latin; a sullen fellow who has gone in for trade. The other, 
Theophile, that abortion with carroty hair and thin beard, that 


38 


POT-BOUILLE 


little, old-looking man of twenty-eight, ever shaking with fits of 
coughing and of rage, tried a dozen different trades, and then 
married the young woman that leads the way, Madame 
Valerie-” 

“ I have already seen her, ” interrupted Octave. “ She is the 
daughter of a haberdasher of the neighborhood, is she not ? But 
how those veils deceive me! I thought her pretty. She is only 
peculiar, with her shriveled face and her leaden complexion. ” 

“She is another who is not my ideal,” sententiouslyresumed 
Trublot. “ She has superb eyes, and that is enough for some men. 
But she’s a thin piece of goods.” 

Madame Josserand had risen to shake Valerie’s hand. 

“ How is it,” cried she, “ that Monsieur Vabre is not with you? 
And that neither Monsieur nor Madame Duveyrier have done us the 
honor of coming ? They promised us, though. Ah! it is very wrong 
of them! ” 

The young woman made excuses for her father-in-law, whose age 
kept him at home, and who, moreover, preferred to work of an 
evening. As for her brother and sister-in-law, they had asked her 
to apologize for them, they having received an invitation to an 
official party, which they were obliged to attend. Madame Josserand 
bit her lips. She never missed one of the Saturdays at home of 
those stuck-up people on the first floor, who would have thought 
themselves dishonored had they ascended, on Tuesday, to the fourth. 
No doubt her modest tea was not equal to their grand orchestral 
concerts. But, patience! when her two daughters were married, 
and she had two sons-in law and their relations to fill her drawing¬ 
room, she also would go in for choruses. 

“ Get yourself ready,” she whispered in Berthe’s ear. 

There were about thirty, and rather tightly packed, for the parlor, 
having been turned into a bed-room for the young ladies, was not 
thrown open. The new arrivals distributed handshakes round. 
Valerie seated herself beside Madame Juzeur, whilst Bachelard and 
Gueulin made unpleasant remarks out loud about Theophile Vabre, 
whom they thought it funny to call “ good for nothing. ” Monsieur 
Josserand—who in his own home kept himself so much in the back¬ 
ground that one would have taken him for a guest, and whom one 
would fail to find when wanted, even though he were standing close 
by—was in a corner listening in a bewildered way to a story related 
by one of his old friends, Bonnaud. He knew Bonnaud, who was 
formerly the general accountant of the Northern Railway, and whose 
daughter had married in the previous spring. Well! Bonnaud had 
just discovered that his son-in-law, a very respectable-looking man, 
was an ex-clown, who had lived for ten years at the expense of a 
female circus-rider. 

“ Silence! silence! ” murmured some good-natured voices. 

Berthe had opened the piano. 

“ Really! ” explained Madame Josserand, “ it is merely an unpre¬ 
tentious piece, a simple reverie. Monsieur Mouret, you like music, 


POT-BOUILLE 


39 


I think. Come nearer, then. My daughter plays pretty fairly—oh! 
purely as an amateur, hut with expression; yes, with a great deal of 
expression.” 

“ Caught! ” said Trublot, in a low voice. “ The sonata stroke.” 

Octave was obliged to leave his seat and stand up beside the 
piano. To see the caressing attention which Madame Josserand 
showered upon him, it seemed as though she were making Berthe 
play solely for him. 

“ 1 The Banks of the Oise/ ” resumed she. “ It is really very 
pretty. Come, begin, my love, and do not be confused. Monsieur 
Mouret will be indulgent.” 

The young girl commenced the piece without being in the least 
confused. Besides, her mother kept her eyes upon her like a 
sergeant ready to punish, with a blow, the least theoretical mistake. 
Her great regret was that the instrument, worn out by fifteen years 
of daily scales, did not possess the sonorous tones of the Duveyriers’ 
grand piano; and her daughter never played loud enough, in her 
opinion. 

After the sixth bar, Octave, looking thoughtfully and nodding his 
head at each spirited passage, no longer listened. 

At this moment quite a catastrophe occurred. A ring at the bell 
was heard, and a gentleman entered the room without the least 
regard for what was taking place. 

u Oh! doctor! ” said Madame Josserand, angrily. 

Doctor Juillerat made a gesture of apology, and stood stock-still. 
Berthe, at this moment, was executing a little passage with a slow 
and dreamy fingering, which the guests greeted with flattering mur¬ 
murs. Ah! delightful! delicious! Madame Juzeur was almost 
swooning away, as though being tickled. Hortense, who was stand¬ 
ing beside her sister, turning the pages, was sulkily listening for a 
ring at the bell amidst the avalanche of notes; and, when the doc¬ 
tor entered, she made such a gesture of disappointment that she 
tore one of the pages on the stand. But, suddenly, the piano trem¬ 
bled beneath Berthe’s weak fingers, thrumming away like hammers; 
it was the end of the reverie, amidst a deafening uproar of clangor¬ 
ous chords. 

There was a moment of hesitation. The audience was waking up 
again. Was it finished? Then the compliments burst out on all 
sides. “ Adorable! a superior talent! ” 

“ Mademoiselle is really a first-rate musician, ” said Octave, 
interrupted in his observations. “ No one has ever given me such 
pleasure. ” 

“ Do you really mean it, sir ? ” exclaimed Madame Josserand, 
delighted. “ She does not play badly, I must admit. Well! we 
have never refused the child anything; she is our treasure! She 
possesses every talent she wished for. Ah! sir, if you only knew 
her. ” 

A. confused murmur of voices again filled the drawing-room. 
Berthe very calmly received the praise showered upon her, and did. 


40 


POT-BOUILLE 


not leave the piano, but sat waiting until her mother relieved her 
from fatigue-duty. The latter was already speaking to Octave of 
the surprising manner in which her daughter dashed off “ The 
Harvesters, ” a brilliant galop, when some dull and distant thuds 
created a stir amongst the guests. For several moments past there 
had been violent shocks, as though some one was trying to burst a 
door open. Everybody left off talking and looked about inquiringly. 

“What is it?” Valerie ventured to ask. “ I heard it before, 
during the finish of the piece. ” 

Madame Josserand had turned quite pale. She had recognized 
Saturnin’s blows. Ah! the wretched lunatic! and in her mind’s eye 
she beheld him tumbling in amongst the guests. If he continued 
hammering like that, it would be another marriage done for! 

“ It is the kitchen door slamming,” said she, with a constrained 
smile. “ Adele never will shut it. Go and see, Berthe. ” 

The young girl had also understood. She rose and disappeared. 
The noise ceased at once, but she did not return immediately. 
Uncle Bachelard, who had scandalously disturbed “ The Banks of 
the Oise ” with reflections uttered out loud, finished putting his 
sister out of countenance by calling to Gueulin that he felt awfully 
bored and was going to have a grog. They both returned to the 
dining-room, banging the door behind them. 

“ That dear old Narcisse, he is always original! ” said Madame 
Josserand to Madame Juzeur and Valerie, between whom she had 
gone and seated herself. “ His business occupies him so much! 
You know, he has made almost a hundred thousand francs this 
year! ” 

Octave, at length free, had hastened so rejoin Trublot, who was 
half asleep on the sofa. Near them, a group surrounded Doctor 
Juillerat, the old medical man of the neighborhood, not over brill¬ 
iant, but who had become, in course of time, a godd practitioner, 
and who had delivered all the mothers in their confinements and 
had attended all the daughters. He made a specialty of women’s 
ailments, which caused him to be in great demand of an evening, 
the husbands all trying to obtain a gratuitous consultation in some 
corner of the drawing-room. Just then, Theophile was telling him 
that Valerie had had another attack the day before; she was for¬ 
ever having a choking fit and complaining of a lump rising in her 
throat; and he, too, was not very well, but his complaint was not 
the same. Then he did nothing but speak of himself, and relate 
his vexations; he had commenced to read for the law, had engaged 
in manufactures at a foundry, and had tried office management at 
the Mont-de-Piete; then he had busied himself with photography, 
and thought he had found a means of making vehicles supply their 
own motive power; meanwhile, out of kindness, he was traveling 
some piano-flutes, an invention of one of his friends. And he com¬ 
plained of his wife; it was her fault if nothing went right at home; 
she was killing him with her perpetual nervous attacks. 

il Po pray give her something, doctor! ” implored he, coughing 


POT-BOUILLE 


41 


and moaning, his eyes lit up with hatred, in the querulous rage of 
his impotency. 

Trublot watched him, full of contempt; and he laughed silently 
as he glanced at Octave. Doctor Juillerat uttered vague and calm¬ 
ing words; no doubt, they would relieve her, the dear lady. At 
fourteen, she was already stifling, in the shop of the Kue Neuve- 
Saint-Augustin; he had attended her for vertigo, which always 
ended by bleeding at the nose; and, as Theophile recalled with 
despair her languid gentleness when a young girl, whilst now, fan¬ 
tastic and her temper changing twenty times in a day, she absolutely 
tortured him, the doctor merely shook his head. Marriage did not 
succeed with all women. 

11 Of course ! " murmured Trublot , 11 a father who has gone off his 
chump by passing thirty years of his life in selling needles and 
thread, a mother who has always had her face covered with pimples, 
and that in an airless hole of old Paris, no one can expect such peo¬ 
ple to have daughters like other folks! " 

Octave was surprised. He was losing some of his respect for that 
drawing-room which he had entered with a provincial's emotion. 
Curiosity was awakened within him, when he observed Campardon 
consulting the doctor in his turn, but in whispers, like a sedate per¬ 
son desirous of letting no one become acquainted with his family 
mishaps. 

u By the way, as you appear to know everything," said Octave to 
Trublot, u tell me what it is that Madame Campardon is suffering 
from. Every one puts on a very sad face whenever it is mentioned." 

“ Why, my dear fellow," replied the young man, “ she has-" 

And he whispered in Octave's ear. Whilst he listened, the latter's 
face first assumed a smile, and then became very long, with a look 
of profound astonishment. 

“ It is not possible! " said he. 

Then Trublot gave his word of honor. He knew another lady in 
the same state. 

“ Besides," resumed he, “ it sometimes happens after a confine¬ 
ment that-" 

And he began to whisper again. Octave, convinced, became quite 
sad. He who had fancied all sorts of things, who had imagined quite 
a romance, the architect occupied elsewhere and drawing him 
toward his wife to amuse her ! In any case he now knew that she 
was well guarded. The young men pressed up against each other 
in the excitement caused by these feminine secrets which they were 
stirring up, forgetting that they might be overheard. 

Madame Juzeur was just then confiding to Madame Josserand her 
impressions of Octave. She thought him very becoming, no doubt, 
but she preferred Monsieur Auguste Yabre. The latter, standing up 
in a corner of the drawing-room, remained silent, in his insignifi¬ 
cance and with his usual evening headache. 

11 What surprises me, dear madam, is that you have not thought 
of him for your Berthe. A young man set up in business, who is 


42 


POT-BOUILLE 


prudence itself. And he is in want of a wife; I know that he is 
desirous of getting married. ” 

Madame Josserand listened, surprised. She would never herself 
have thought of the linen draper. Madame Juzeur, however, 
insisted; for, in her misfortune, she had the mania of working for 
the happiness of other women, which caused her to busy herself 
with everything relating to the tender passions of the house. She 
affirmed that Auguste never took his eyes off Berthe. In short, 
she invoked her experience of men: Monsieur Mouret would never 
let himself be caught, whilst that good Monsieur Yabre would be 
very easy and very advantageous. But Madame Josserand, weigh¬ 
ing the latter with a glance, came decidedly to the conclusion that 
such a son-in-law would not be of much use in filling her drawing¬ 
room. 

“ My daughter detests him,” said she, “ and I would never oppose 
the dictates of her heart.” 

“Mamma, the tea is served,” said Berthe, as she and Ad&le 
opened the folding doors. 

And, whilst the company passed slowly into the dining-room, she 
went up to her mother and murmured: 

“ I have had enough of it! He wants me to stay and tell him 
stories, or threatens to smash everything! ” 

On a gray cloth, which was too narrow, was served one of those 
teas laboriously got together, a cake bought at a neighboring baker’s, 
with some mixed sweet biscuits, and some sandwiches on either side. 
At either end of the table quite a luxury of flowers, superb and 
costly roses, withdrew attention from the ancient dust on the bis¬ 
cuits, and the poor quality of the butter. The sight caused a com¬ 
motion, and jealousies were kindled: really, those Josserands were 
ruining themselves in trying to marry off their daughters. And the 
guests, having but poorly dined, and only thinking of going to bed 
with their bellies full, casting side glances at the bouquets, gorged 
themselves with weak tea, and imprudently devoured the hard, stale 
biscuits and the heavy cake. For those persons who did not like 
tea, Adele handed round some glasses of red currant syrup. It was 
pronounced excellent. 

Meanwhile, the uncle was asleep in a corner. They did not wake 
him; they even politely pretended not to see him. A lady talked 
of the fatigues of business. Berthe went from one to another, offer¬ 
ing sandwiches, handing cups of tea, and asking the men if they 
would like any more sugar. But she was unable to attend to every 
one, and Madame Josserand was looking for her daughter Hortense, 
when she caught sight of her standing in the middle of the deserted 
drawing-room, talking to a gentleman, of whom one could only see 
the back. 

11 Ah! yes! he has come at last,” she permitted, in her anger, to 
escape her. 

There was some whispering. It was that Verdier, who had been 
living with a woman for fifteen years past, whilst waiting to marry 


POT-BOUILLE 


43 


Hortense. Every one knew the story, the young ladies exchanged 
glances; but they bit their lips, and avoided speaking of it, out of 
propriety. Octave, being made acquainted with it, examined the 
gentleman’s back with interest. Trublot knew the mistress, a good 
girl, a reformed street-walker, who was better now, said he, than 
the best of wives, taking care of her man, and looking after his 
clothes; and he was full of a fraternal sympathy for her. Whilst 
they were being watched from the dining-room, Hortense was scold¬ 
ing Verdier with all the sulkiness of a badly brought up virgin for 
having come so late. 

“ Hallo! red currant syrup! ” said Trublot, seeing Ad61e standing 
before him, a tray in her hand. 

He sniffed it and declined. But, as the servant turned round, a 
stout lady’s elbow pushed her against him, and he pinched her back. 
She smiled, and returned to him with the tray. 

“ No, thanks,” said he. “ By-and-by.” 

Women were seated round the table, whilst the men were eating, 
standing up behind them. Exclamations were heard, an enthusi¬ 
asm, which died away as the mouths were filled with food. The 
gentlemen were appealed to. Madame Josserand cried: 

“ Ah! yes, I was forgetting. Come and look, Monsieur Mouret, 
you who love the arts.” 

“ Take care, the water-color stroke! ” murmured Trublot, who 
knew the house. 

It was better than a water-color. As though by chance, a porce¬ 
lain bowl was standing on the table; right at the very bottom of it, 
surrounded by the brand-new varnished bronze mounting, Greuze’s 
“ Young girl with the broken pitcher ” was painted in light colors, 
passing from pale lilac to faint blue. Berthe smiled in the midst of 
the praise. 

“ Mademoiselle possesses every talent,” said Octave, with his 
good-natured grace. “ Oh! the colors are so well blended, and it 
is very accurate, very accurate! ” 

“ I can guarantee that the design is! ” resumed Madame Josser¬ 
and, triumphantly. “ There is not a hair too many or few. Berthe 
copied it here, from an engraving. There are really such a number 
of nude subjects at the Louvre, and the people there are at times so 
mixed! ” 

She had lowered her voice when giving this last piece of informa¬ 
tion, desirous of letting the young man know that, though her 
daughter was an artist, she did not let that carry her beyond the 
limits of propriety. She probably, however, thought Octave rather 
cold, she felt that the bowl had not met with the success she had 
anticipated, and she watched him with an anxious look, whilst 
Valerie and Madame Juzeur, who were drinking their fourth cup 
of tea, examined the painting and gave vent to little cries of 
admiration. 

11 You are looking at her again, ” said Trublot to Octave, on seeing 
him with his eyes fixed on Valerie, 


44 


POT-BOUILLE 


“Why, yes,” replied he, slightly confused. “It is funny, she 
looks pretty just at this moment. A warm woman, evidently. I 
say, do you think one might venture ? ” 

“ Warm, one never knows. It is a peculiar fancy! Anyhow, it 
would be better than marrying the girl.” 

“What girl?” exclaimed Octave, forgetting himself. “What! 
you think I am going to let myself be hooked! Never! My dear 
fellow, we don’t marry at Marseilles! ” 

Madame Josserand had drawn near. The words came upon her 
like a stab in the heart. Another fruitless campaign, another even¬ 
ing party wasted! The blow was such that she was obliged to lean 
against a chair, as she looked with despair at the now despoiled 
table, where all that remained was a burnt piece of cake. She had 
given up counting her defeats, but this one should be the last; she 
took a frightful oath, swearing that she would no longer feed persons 
who came to see her solely to gorge. And, upset and exasperated, 
she glanced round the dining-room, seeking into what man’s arms 
she could throw her daughter, when she caught sight of Auguste 
resignedly standing against the wall, and not having partaken of 
anything. 

Just then, Berthe, with a smile on her face, was moving toward 
Octave, with a cup of tea in her hand. She was continuing the 
campaign, obedient to her mother’s wishes. But the latter caught 
her by the arm, and called her a silly fool under her breath. 

“ Take that cup to Monsieur Vabre, who has been waiting for an 
hour past, ” said she, graciously and very loud. 

Then, whispering again in her daughter’s ear, and giving her 
another of her warlike looks, she added: 

“ Be amiable, or you will have me to deal with! ” 

Berthe, for a moment put out of countenance, soon recovered her¬ 
self. It often changed thus three times in an evening. She carried 
the cup to Auguste, with the smile which she had commenced for 
Octave; she was amiable, talked of Lyons silks, and did the engag¬ 
ing young person who would look very well behind a counter. 
Anguste’s hands trembled a little, and he was very red, as he was 
suffering a good deal from his head that evening. 

Out of politeness, a few persons returned, and sat down for some 
moments in the drawing-room. Having fed, they were all going off. 
When they looked for Yerdier, he had already taken his departure, and 
some young ladies, greatly put out, only carried away an indistinct 
view of his back. Campardon, without waiting for Octave, retired 
with the doctor, whom he detained on the landing, to ask him if 
there was really no more hope. During the tea, one of the lamps 
had gone out, emitting a stench of rancid oil, and the other lamp, 
the wick of which was all charred, lit up the room with so poor a 
light that the Vabres themselves rose to leave, in spite of the atten¬ 
tions with which Madame Josserand overwhelmed them. Octave 
had preceded them into the ante-room, where he had a surprise; 


POT-BOUILLE 


45 


Trublot, who was iooking for his hat, suddenly disappeared. He 
could only have gone off by the passage leading to the kitchen. 

‘‘Well! wherever has he got to? does he leave by the servants’ 
staircase ? ” murmured the young man. 

But he did not seek to clear up the mystery. Valerie was there, 
looking for a lace neckerchief. The two brothers, Theophile and 
Auguste, were going down-stairs, without troubling themselves about 
her. .Octave, having found the neckerchief, handed it to her, with 
the air of admiration he put on when serving the pretty lady cus¬ 
tomers of “ The Ladies’ Paradise.” She looked at him, and he felt 
certain that her eyes, on fixing themselves on his, had flashed forth 
flames. 

“You are too kind, sir,” said she, simply. 

Madame Juzeur, who was the last to leave, enveloped them both 
in a tender and discreet smile. And when Octave, highly excited, 
had reached his cold chamber, he looked at himself for an instant in 
the glass, and he thought it worth while to make the attempt! 

Meanwhile, Madame Josserand was wandering about the deserted 
room, without saying a word, and as though carried away by some 
gale of wind. She had violently closed the piano and turned out 
the last lamp; then, passing into the dining-room, she began to 
blow out the candles so vigorously that the chandelier quite shook. 
The sight of the despoiled table covered with dirty plates and 
empty cups, increased her rage; and she turned round it, casting 
terrible glances at her daughter Hortense, who, quietly sitting 
down, was devouring the piece of burnt cake. 

“ You are putting yourself in a fine state again, mamma,” said the 
latter. “Is it not going on all right, then? For myself, I am 
satisfied. He is purchasing some chemises for her to enable her to 
leave.” 

The mother shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Eh ? you say that this proves nothing. Very good, only steer 
your ship as well as I steer mine. Here, now, is a cake which may 
flatter itself is a precious bad one! They must be a wretched lot to 
swallow such stuff. ” 

Monsieur Josserand, who was always worn out by his wife’s par¬ 
ties, was reposing on a chair; but he was in dread of an encounter, 
he feared that Madame Josserand might drive him before her in her 
furious promenade; and he drew close to Bachelard and Gueulin, 
who were seated at the table in front of Hortense. The uncle, on 
awakening, had discovered a decanter of rum. He was emptying it, 
and bitterly alluding to the twenty francs. 

“ It is not for the money,” he kept repeating to his nephew, “ it 
is the way the thing was done. You know how I behave to women: 
I would give them the shirt off my back, but I do not like them to 
ask me for anything. The moment they begin to ask, it annoys me, 
and I don’t even chuck them a radish. ” 

And, as his sister was about to remind him of his promises: 

“ Be quiet, Eleonore! I know what I have to do for the child. 


46 


POT-BOUILLE 


But, you see, when a woman asks, it is more than I can stand. I 
have never been able to keep friends with one, have I now, Gueulin ? 
And, besides, there is really such little respect shown me! Leon 
has not even deigned to wish me many happy returns of the day.” 

Madame Josserand resumed her walk, clinching her fists. It was 
true; there was Leon, too, who promised and then disappointed her 
like the others. There was one who would not sacrifice an evening 
to help to marry off his sisters! She had just discovered a sweet 
biscuit, fallen behind one of the flower vases, and was locking it up 
in a drawer when Berthe, who had gone to release Saturnin, brought 
him back with her. She was quieting him, whilst he, haggard, with 
a mistrustful look in his eyes, was searching the corners with the 
feverish excitement of a dog that has been long shut up. 

“ How stupid he is! ” said Berthe, “he thinks that I have just 
been married. And he is seeking for the husband ! Ah! my poor 
Saturnin, you may seek. I tell you that it has come to nothing! 
You know very well that it never comes to anything. ” 

Then Madame Josserand's rage burst all bounds. 

“Ah! I swear to you that it sha’n’t come to nothing next time, 
even if I have to tie him to you myself! There is one who shall pay 
for all the others. Yes, yes, Monsieur Josserand, you may stare at 
me, as though you did not understand: the wedding shall take 
place, and without you, if it does not please you. You hear, Berthe ? 
you have only to pick that one up! ” 

Saturnin appeared not to hear. He was looking under the table. 
The young lady pointed to him; but Madame Josserand made a 
gesture which seemed to imply that he would be got out of the way. 
And Berthe murmured: 

“ So, then, it is decidedly to be Monsieur Vabre ? Oh! it is all the 
same to me. To think, though, that not a single sandwich has been 
saved for me! ” 


CHAPTER IY. 

As early 'as the morrow, Octave commenced to occupy himself 
about Valerie. He studied her habits, and ascertained the hour 
when he would have a chance of meeting her on the stairs; and he 
arranged matters so that he could frequently go up to his room, tak¬ 
ing advantage of his coming home to lunch at the Campardons', and 
leaving “ The Ladies' Paradise ” for a few minutes, under some pre¬ 
text or other. He soon noticed that, every day, toward two o'clock, 
the young woman, who took her child to the Tuileries gardens, 
passed along the Rue Gaillon. Then he would stand at the door, 
wait till she came, and greet her with one of his handsome shop¬ 
man’s smiles. At each of their meetings, Valerie politely inclined 



POT-BOUILLE 


47 


lier head and passed on; hut he perceived her dark glance to be 
full of passionate fire; he found encouragement in her ravaged com¬ 
plexion and in the supple swing of her gait. 

His plan was already formed, the bold plan of a seducer used to 
cavalierly overcoming the virtue of shop girls. It was simply a 
question of luring Valerie inside his room on the fourth floor; the 
staircase was always silent and deserted, no one would discover 
them up there; and he laughed at the thought of the architect’s 
moral admonitions; for taking a woman belonging to the house was 
not the same as bringing one into it. 

One thing, however, made Octave uneasy. The passage sepa¬ 
rated the Pichons’ kitchen from their dining-room, and this obliged 
them to constantly have their door open. 

Valerie could never come up to him if the Pichons’ door was thus 
being continually opened. 

He was just beginning to think that things were taking the right 
course. One Sunday when the husband was absent, he had 
maneuvered in such a way as to be on the first-floor landing at the 
moment the young woman, wrapped in her dressing-gown, was 
leaving her sister-in-law’s to return to her own apartments; and, 
she being obliged to speak to him, they had stood some minutes 
exchanging polite remarks. So he was hoping that next time she 
would ask him in. With a woman with such a temperament the 
rest would follow as a matter of course. That evening during din¬ 
ner, there was some talk about Valerie at the Campardons’. Octave 
tried to draw the others out. But as Angele was listening, and 
casting sly glances at Lisa, who was handing round some leg of 
mutton and looking very serious, the parents at first did nothing 
but sing the young woman’s praises. Moreover, the architect 
always stood up for the respectability of the house, with the vain 
conviction of a tenant who seemed to obtain from it a regular cer¬ 
tificate of his own gentility. 

“Oh! my dear fellow, most respectable people. You saw them 
at the Josserands’ The husband is no fool; he is full of ideas, he 
will end by discovering something very grand. As for the wife, she 
has some style about her, as we artists say. ” 

Madame Campardon, who had been rather worse since the day 
before, and who was half reclining, though her illness did not pre¬ 
vent her eating thick, underdone slices of meat, languidly mur¬ 
mured in her turn: 

“ That poor Monsieur Theophile, he is like me, he drags along. 
Ah ! great praise is due to Valerie, for it is not lively always having 
by one a man trembling with fever, and whose infirmity usually 
makes him quarrelsome and unjust. ” 

During dessert, Octave, seated between the architect and his 
wife, learnt more than he asked. They forgot Angele, they spoke 
in hints, with glances which underlined the double meanings of the 
words; and, when they were at a loss for an expression, they bent 
toward him one after the other, and coarsely whispered the rest of 


48 


POT-BOUILLE 


the disclosure in his ear. In short, that Theophile was a stupid and 
impotent person, who deserved to be what his wife made him. As 
for Valerie, she was not worth much, she would have behaved just 
as badly even if her husband had been different, for with her nature 
had so much the mastery. Moreover, no one was ignorant of the 
fact that, two months after her marriage, in despair at recognizing 
that she would never have a child by her husband, and fearing she 
would lose her share of old Vabre’s fortune if Theophile happened 
to die, she had her little Camille got for her by a butcher’s man of 
the Rue Sainte-Anne. 

Campardon bent down, and whispered a last time in Octave’s 
ear: 

u Well! you know, my dear fellow, an hysterical woman!” 

And he put into the word all the middle-class wantonness of an 
indelicacy combined with the blobber-lipped smile of a father of a 
family whose imagination, abruptly let loose, revels in licentious¬ 
ness. The conversation then took a different turn, they were 
speaking of the Pichons, and words of praise were not stinted. 

“ Oh ! they are indeed worthy people!” repeated Madame Cam- 
pardon. “ Sometimes, when Marie takes her little Lilitte out, I 
also let her take AngMe. And I assure you, Monsieur Mouret, I do 
not trust my daughter to every one; I must be absolutely certain of 
the person’s morality. You love Marie very much, do you not, 
Angele f ” 

“ Yes, mamma,” answered the child. 

The details continued. It was impossible to find a woman better 
brought up, or according to severer principles. And it was a 
pleasure to see how happy the husband was! Such a nice little 
home, and so clean, and a couple that adored each other, who never 
said one word louder than another! 

“ Besides, they would not be allowed to remain in the house, if 
they did not behave themselves properly,” said the architect 
gravely, forgetting his disclosures about Valerie. “We will only 
have respectable people here. On my word of honor! I would give 
notice, the day that my daughter ran the risk of meeting disreputa¬ 
ble women on the stairs. ” 

That evening, he had secretly arranged to take cousin Gasparine 
to the Opera-Comique. He therefore went and fetched his hat at 
once, talking of a business matter which would keep him out till 
very late. Rose, though, probably knew of the arrangement, for 
Octave heard her murmur, in her resigned and maternal voice, 
when her husband came to kiss her with his habitual effusive ten¬ 
derness : 

“ Amuse yourself well, and do not catch cold on coming out.” 

On the morrow, Octave had an idea: it was to become acquainted 
with Madame Pichon, by rendering her a few neighborly services; 
in this way, if she ever caught Valerie, she would keep her eyes 
shut. And an opportunity occurred that very day. Madame 
Pichon was in the habit of taking Lilitte, then eighteen months old, 


POT-BOUILLE 


49 


out in a little basket-work perambulator, which raised Monsieur 
Gourd’s ire; the doorkeeper would never permit it to be carried up 
the principal staircase, so that she had to take it up the servants’; 
and, as the door of her apartment was too narrow, she had to 
remove the wheels every time, which was quite a job. It so hap¬ 
pened that that day Octave was returning home, just as his neigh¬ 
bor, incommodated by her gloves, was giving herself a great deal of 
trouble trying to get the nuts off. When she felt him standing up 
behind her, waiting till the passage was clear, she quite lost her 
head, and her hands trembled. 

“ But, madame. why do you take all that trouble ? ” asked he at 
length. “ It would be far simpler to put the perambulator at the 
end of the passage, behind the door. ” 

She did not reply, her excessive timidity kept her squatting there, 
without strength to rise; and, beneath the curtain of her bonnet, 
he beheld a hot blush invade the nape of her neck and her ears. 
Then he insisted: 

“ I assure you madame, it will not inconvenience me in the 
least. ” 

Without waiting, he lifted up the perambulator and carried it in 
his easy way. She was obliged to follow him; but she remained so 
confused, so frightened by this important adventure in her unevent¬ 
ful every-day life, that she looked on, only able to stutter fragments 
of sentences. 

“Dear me! sir, it is too much trouble —I feel quite ashamed 
—you will find it very awkward. My husband will be very 
pleased-” 

And she entered her room and locked herself in, this time her¬ 
metically, with a sort of shame. Octave thought that she was 
stupid. The perambulator was a great deal in his way, for it pre¬ 
vented him opening his door wide, and he had to slip in his room 
sideways. But his neighbor seemed to be won over, more espe¬ 
cially as Monsieur Gourd consented to authorize the obstruction at 
that end of the passage, thanks to Campardon’s influence. 

Every Sunday, Marie’s parents, Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume, 
came to spend the day. On the Sunday following, as Octave was 
going out, he beheld all the family seated taking their coffee, 
and he was discreetly hastening by, when, the young woman, whis¬ 
pering quickly in her husband’s ear, the latter jumped up, saying: 

“ Excuse me, sir, I am always out, I have not yet had an oppor¬ 
tunity of thanking you. But I wished to tell you how pleased I 
was-” 

Octave protested. At length he was obliged to give in. Though 
he had already had his coffee, they made him accept another cup. 
They gave him the place of honor, between Monsieur and Madame 
Vuillaume. Opposite to him, on the other side of the round table, 
Marie was again thrown in one of those confused conditions which 
at any minute, without apparent cause, brought all the blood from 
Pot-Bouille 4 


50 


POT-BOUILLE 


lier heart to her face. He watched her, never having seen her at 
his ease. But, as Trublot said, she was not his fancy; she seemed 
to him wretched and washed out, with her flat face and her thin 
hair, though her features were refined and pretty. When she 
recovered herself a little, she laughed lightly as she again talked 
of the perambulator, about which she found a great deal to say. 

“ Jules, if you had only seen Monsieur Mouret carry it in his arms. 
Ah well! it did not take long! ” 

Pichon again uttered his thanks. He was tall and thin, with a 
doleful look about him, already subdued to the routine of office 
life, his dull eyes full of the apathetic resignation displayed by 
circus horses. 

“ Pray say no more about it! ” Octave ended by observing; “ it is 
really not worth while. Madame, your coffee is exquisite. I have 
never drunk any like it. ” 

She blushed again, and so much that her hands even became quite 
rosy. 

“ Do not spoil her, sir,’* said Monsieur Yuillaume gravely,,“ Her 
coffee is good, but there is better. And you see how proud she has 
become at once ! ” 

11 Pride is worth nothing,” declared Madame Yuillaume. “We 
have always taught her to be modest.” 

They were, both of them, little and dried up, very old, and with 
dark-looking countenances; the wife wore a tight black dress, and 
the husband a thin frock coat, on which only the mark of a big red 
ribbon was to be seen. 

“ Sir,” resumed the latter, “ I was decorated at the age of sixty, 
on the day I was pensioned off, after having been for thirty-nine 
years employed at the Ministry of Public Instruction. Well, sir, on 
that day I dined the same as on other days, and did not let pride 
interfere with any of my habits. The Cross was due to me, I knew 
it. I was simply filled with gratitude. ” 

His life was perfectly clear, ho wished every one to know it. 
After twenty-five years’ service, he had been promoted to four thou¬ 
sand francs. His pension, therefore, was two thousand. But he had 
had to re-engage himself in a subordinate position at fifteen hundred 
francs, as they had had their little Marie late in life, when Madame 
Yuillaume was no longer expecting either son or daughter. Now 
that the child was established in life, they were living on the pen¬ 
sion, by pinching themselves, in the Rue Durantin at Montmartre, 
where things were cheaper. 

“ I am sixty-three,” said he, in conclusion, “ and that is all about 
it, and that is all about it, son-in-law! ” 

Pichon looked at him in a silent and weary way, his eyes fixed on 
his red ribbon. Yes, it would be his own story if luck favored him. 
He was the last born of a green-grocer who had spent the entire 
worth of her shop in her anxiety to make her son take a degree, 
just because all the neighborhood said he was very intelligent; and 
she had died bankrupt eight days before his triumph at the Sor- 


POT-BOUILLE 


51 


bonne. After three years of hardships at his uncle’s he had had the 
unexpected luck of getting a berth at the Ministry, which was to 
lead him to everything, and on the strength of which he had already 
married. 

“When one does one’s duty, the government does the same,” 
murmured he, mechanically reckoning that he still had thirty-six 
years to wait before obtaining the right to wear a piece of red rib¬ 
bon and to enjoy a pension of two thousand francs. 

Then ho turned toward Octave. 

“ You see, sir, it is the children who are such a heavy weight.” 

“ No doubt,” said Madame Vuillaume. “ If wo had had another 
we should never have made both ends meet. Therefore, remember, 
Jules, what I insisted upon when I gave you Marie; one child and 
no more, or else we shall quarrel? It is only workpeople who have 
childreh like fowls lay eggs, without troubling themselves as to 
what it will cost them. It is true that they turn the youngsters out 
onto the streets, like flocks of animals, which makes me feel sick 
when I pass by. ” 

Octave had looked at Marie, thinking that this delicate subject 
would make her cheeks crimson; but she remained pale, approving 
her mother’s words with ingenuous serenity. He was feeling awfully 
bored, and did not know how to retire. In the little cold dining¬ 
room these people thus spent their afternoon, slowly muttering a 
few words every five minutes, and always about their own affairs. 
Even dominoes disturbed them too much. 

Madame Vuillaume now explained her notions. At the end of a 
long silence, which left all four of them in no way embarrassed, as 
though they had felt the necessity of rearranging their ideas, she 
resumed: 

“You have no child, sir? It will come in time. Ah! it is a 
responsibility, especially for a mother! When my little one was 
born I was forty-nine, sir, an age when luckily one knows how to 
behave. A boy will get on anyhow, but a girl! And I have the 
consolation of knowing that I have done my duty, oh, yes! ” 

Then she explained her plan of education, in short sentences. 
Honesty first. No playing on the stairs, the little one always kept 
at home and watched closely, for children think of nothing but evil. 
The doors and windows shut, never any draughts, which bring the 
wicked things of the street with them. Out of doors, never leave 
go of the child’s hand, teach it to keep its eyes lowered to avoid 
seeing anything wrong. With regard to religion, it should not be 
overdone, just sufficient as a moral restraint. Then, when she has 
grown up, engage teachers instead of sending her to school, where 
the innocent ones are corrupted; and assist also at the lessons, see 
that she does not learn what she should not know, hide all news¬ 
papers, of course, and keep the bookcase locked. 

“ A young person always knows too much,” declared the old lady, 
coming to an end. 

Whilst her mother spoke, Marie kept her eyes vaguely fixed on 


52 


POT-BOUILLE 


space. She once more beheld the little convent-like lodging, those 
narrow rooms in the Kuo Durantin, where she was not even 
allowed to lean out of a window. It was one prolonged childhood, 
all sorts of prohibitions which she did not understand, lines which 
her mother inked out on their fashion paper, the black marks of 
which made her blush, lessons purified to such an extent that even 
her teachers were embarrassed when she questioned them. A very 
gentle childhood, however, the soft, warm growth of a greenhouse, 
a waking dream in which the words uttered by the tongue, and the 
facts of every-day life acquired ridiculous meanings. And, even at 
that hour as she gazed vacantly, and was filled with these recollec¬ 
tions, a childish smile hovered about her lips, as though she had 
• remained in ignorance, spite even of her marriage. 

“ You will believe me if you like, sir,” said Monsieur Vuillaume, 
“ but my daughter had not read a single novel when she" waS past 
eighteen. Is it not true, Marie ? ” 

“ Yes, papa.” 

“ I have George Sand’s works very handsomely bound, ” he con¬ 
tinued, u and in spite of her mother’s fears I decided, a few months 
before her marriage, to permit her to read ‘ Andre,’ a perfectly inno¬ 
cent work, full of imagination, and which elevates the soul. I am 
for a liberal education. Literature has certainly its rights. The 
book produced an extraordinary effect upon her, sir. She cried all 
night in her sleep; which proves that there is nothing like a pure 
imagination to understand genius. ” 

“ It is so beautiful! ” murmured the young woman, her eyes 
sparkling. 

But, Pichon having enunciated this theory, no novels before mar¬ 
riage, and as many as one likes afterward — Madame Vuillaume 
shook her head. She never read, and was none the worse for it. 
Then Marie gently spoke of her loneliness. 

“ Well! I sometimes take up a book. Jules chooses them for me 
at the library in the Passage Choiseul. If I only played the piano! ” 
For some time past, Octave had felt the necessity of saying some¬ 
thing. 

“ What! madame,” exclaimed he, “ you do not play! ” 

A slight awkwardness ensued. The parents talked of a succession 
of unfortunate circumstances, not wishing to admit that they had 
not been willing to incur the expense. Madame Vuillaume, more¬ 
over, affirmed that Marie.sang in tune from her birth; when she 
was a child she knew all sorts of very pretty ballads, she had only 
to hear the tunes once to remember them; and the mother spoke of 
a song about Spain, the story of a captive weeping for her lover, 
which the child gave out with an expression that would draw tears 
from the hardest hearts. But Marie remained disconsolate. She 
let this cry escape her, as she extended her hand in the direction of 
the inner room, where her little one was sleeping : 

“ Ah! I swear that Lilitte shall learn to play the piano, even 
though I have to make the greatest sacrifices! ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


53 


u Think first of bringing her np as we brought you up,” said 
Madame Yuillaume, severely. “ I certainly do not condemn music, 
it develops one’s feelings. But, above all, watch over your daugh¬ 
ter, keep every foul breath from her, strive that she may preserve 
her innocence.” 

She started off again, giving even more weight to religion, settling 
the number of times to go to confess each month, naming the masses 
that it was absolutely necessary to attend, all from the point of view 
of propriety. Then Octave, unable to bear any more of it, talked of 
an appointment which obliged him to go out. He had a singing in 
his ears, he felt that this conversation would continue in a like man¬ 
ner until the evening. And he hastened away, leaving the Vuil- 
laumes and the Pichons telling one another, around the same cups of 
coffee slowly emptied, what they told each other every Sunday. As 
he was bowing a last time, Marie, suddenly and without any reason, 
became scarlet. 

Ever since that afternoon, Octave hastened past the Pichons’ 
door whenever he heard the slow tones of Monsieur and Madame 
yuillaume on a Sunday. Moreover, he was entirely absorbed in his 
conquest of Valerie. In spite of the fiery glances of which ho 
thought himself the object, she maintained an inexplicable reserve; 
and in that he fancied he saw the play of a coquette. He even met 
her one day, as though by chance, in the Tuileries gardens, when 
she quietly began to talk of a storm of the day before, which finally 
convinced him that she was devilish smart. And he was constantly 
on the staircase, watching for an opportunity of entering her apart¬ 
ments, decided, if necessary, upon being positively rude. 

Now, every time that he passed her, Marie smiled and blushed. 
They exchanged the greetings of good neighbors. One morning, at 
lunch-time, as he brought her up a letter, which Monsieur Gourd 
had given him, to avoid having to go up the four flights of stairs him¬ 
self, he found her in a sad way; she had seated Lilitte in her chem¬ 
ise on the round table, and was trying to dress her again. 

“ What is the matter ? ” asked the young man. 

“ Why, this child!” replied she. “ I foolishly took her things off, 
because she was complaining. And now I don’t know what to do, 
I don’t know what to do! ” 

Ho looked at her in surprise. She was turning a skirt over and 
over, looking for the hooks. Then she added : 

“ You see, her father always helps me to dress her in the morning 
before he goes out. I can never manage it by myself. It bothers me, 
it annoys me. ” 

The child, meanwhile, tired of being in her chemise, and frightened 
by the sight of Octave, was struggling and trembling about on the 
table. 

“ Take care !” cried he, u she will fall.” 

It was quite a catastrophe. Marie looked as though she dare not 
touch her child’s naked limbs. She continued contemplating her, 
with the surprise of a virgin, amazed at having been able to produce 


54 


POT-BOUILLE 


such a thing. However, assisted by Octave, who quieted the little 
one, she succeeded in dressing her again. 

“How will you manage when you have a dozen?” asked he, 
laughing. 

“ But we shall never have any more !” answered she in a fright. 

Then he joked : she was wrong to he sure, a child comes so 
easily! 

“ No! no!” repeated she obstinately. “ You heard what mamma 
said the other day. She forbade Jules to have any more. You 
do not know her; it would lead to endless quarrels if another 
came. ” 

Octave was amused by the quiet way in which she discussed this 
question. He drew her out, without, however, succeeding in embar¬ 
rassing her. She, moreover, did as her husband wished. No 
doubt she loved children; had she been allowed to desire others, 
she would not have said no. And, beneath this complacency, which 
was restricted to her mother’s commands, the indifference of a 
woman whose maternity was still slumbering could be recognized. 
Lilitte occupied her like her home, which she looked after through 
duty. When she had washed up the breakfast things and taken 
the child for her walk, she continued her former young girl’s 
existence, of a somnolent emptiness, lulled by the vague expectation 
of a joy which never came. Octave, having remarked that she must 
feel very dull, being always alone, she seemed surprised: no, she 
was never dull, the days passed, somehow or other, without her 
knowing, when she went to bed, how she had employed her time. 
Then, on Sundays, she sometimes went out with her husband; or 
her parents called, or else she read. If reading did not give her 
headaches, she would have read from morning till night, now that 
she was allowed to read everything. 

“What -is really annoying,” resumed she, “is that they have 
scarcely anything at the library in the Passage Choiseul. For 
instance, I wanted 1 Andre,’ to read it again, because it made me cry 
so much the other time. Well! their copy has been stolen. Besides 
that, my father refuses to lend me his, because Lilitte might tear 
the pictures.” 

“ But, ” said Octave, “ my friend Campardon has all George Sands’ 
works. I will ask him to lend me 1 Andre ’ for you. ” 

She blushed, and her eyes sparkled. He was really too kind! 
And, when he left her, she stood before Lilitte, her arms hanging 
down by her sides, without an idea in her head, in the attitude 
which she maintained for whole afternoons together. She detested 
sewing; she did crochet work — always the same piece—which she 
left lying about the room. 

Octave brought her the book on the morrow, a Sunday. Pichon 
had had to go out, to leave his card on one of his superiors. And, 
as the young man found her dressed for walking, she having just 
been on some errand in the neighborhood, he asked her, out of 
curiosity, whether she had been to church, having the idea that she 


POT-BOUILLE 


55 


was religious. She answered no. Before marrying her off, her 
mother used to take her regularly to mass. During the six first 
months of her married life, she continued going, through force of 
habit, with the constant fear of being too late. Then, she scarcely 
knew why, after missing a few times, she left off going altogether. 
Her husband detested priests, and her mother never even mentioned 
them now. Octave’s question, however, disturbed her, as though it 
had awakened within her things that had been long buried beneath 
the idleness of her existence. 

u I must go to Saint-Roch one of these mornings, ” said she. 11 An 
occupation gone always leaves a void behind it. ” 

And, on the pale face of this late child, born of parents too old, 
there appeared the unhealthy regret of another existence, dreamed 
of once upon a time, in the land of chimeras. She could conceal 
nothing, everything was reflected in her face, beneath her skin, which 
had the softness and transparency accompanying an attack of 
chlorosis. Then she gave way to her feelings, and caught hold of 
Octave’s hands with a familiar gesture. 

“ Ah ! let me thank you for having brought me this book ! 
Come to-morrow after lunch. I will return it to you, and tell you 
the effect that it produced on me. It will be amusing, will it not? ” 

On leaving her, Octave thought that she was funny all the same. 
She was beginning to interest him; he contemplated speaking to 
Pichon, so as to make him rouse her up a bit; for the little woman, 
most decidedly, only wanted a shaking. It so happened that on the 
morrow he came across the clerk just as he was going off, and he 
accompanied him part of the way at the risk of being late himself 
at u The Ladies’ Paradise.” But Pichon seemed to him to be even 
more benumbed than his wife, full of manias in their early stage, 
and entirely occupied with the dread of getting mud on his shoes in 
wet weather. He walked on his toes, and continually talked of the 
second head clerk of his office. Octave, who was only animated by 
fraternal intentions in the matter, ended by leaving him in the Rue 
Saint-Honore, after advising him to take Marie to the theater fre¬ 
quently. 

“ Whatever for ? ” asked Pichon, in amazement. 

“ Because it is good for women. It makes them nicer.” 

“ Ah ! you really think so? ” 

He promised to give the matter his attention, and crossed the 
street, eying the cabs with terror, the only thing in life which wor¬ 
ried him being the fear of getting splashed. 

At lunch-time, Octave knocked at the Pinchons’ door for the book. 
Marie was reading, her elbows on the table, her hands buried in her 
disheveled hair. She had just eaten an egg cooked in a tin pan 
which was lying in the center of the hastily laid table without any 
cloth. Lillitte, forgotten on the floor, was sleeping with her nose on 
the pieces of a plate which she had no doubt broken. 

“ Well! ” 

Marie did not answer at once. She was still wrapped in her mom- 


56 


POT-BOUILLE 


ing dressing-gown, which, from the buttons being torn off, displayed 
her throat, in all the disorder of a woman just risen from her bed. 

“ I have scarcely read a hundred pages, ” she ended by saying. 
u My parents came yesterday.” 

And she spoke in a painful tone of voice, with a sourness about 
her mouth. When she was younger she longed to live in the midst 
of the woods. She was forever dreaming that she met a huntsman 
who was sounding his horn. He approached her and knelt down. 
This took place in a copse, very far away, where roses were bloom¬ 
ing like in a park. Then, suddenly, they had been married, and 
afterward lived there, wandering about till eternity. She, very 
happy, wished for nothing more; he, as tender and submissive as a 
slave, was continually at her feet. 

“ I had a talk with your husband this morning, ” said Octave. 
“ You do not go out enough, and I have persuaded him to take you 
to«the theater. ” 

But she shook her head, turning pale and shivering. A silence 
ensued. She again beheld the narrow dining-room with its cold 
light. Jules’image, sullen and correct, had suddenly cast a shadow 
over the huntsman of the romance, whom she had been imagining, 
and the sound of whose horn in the distance again rang in her ears. 
Every now and then she listened: perhaps he was coming. Her 
husband had never taken her feet in his hands to kiss them; he had 
never, either, knelt beside her to tell her he adored her. Yet, she 
loved him well; but she was surprised that love did not contain 
more sweetness. 

“What stifles me, you know,” resumed she, returning to the 
book, “ is when there are passages in novels about the characters 
telling one another of their love. ” 

Octave then sat down, He wished to laugh, not caring for such 
sentimental trifling. 

“ I detest a lot of phrases,” said he. “ When two persons adore 
each other, the best thing is to prove it at once. ” 

But she did not seem to understand; her eyes remained undimmed. 
He stretched out his hand, slightly touching hers, and leant over so 
close to her to observe a passage in the book that his breath warmed 
her shoulder through the open dressing-gown; yet she remained 
insensible. Then he rose up, full of a contempt mingled with pity. 
As he was leaving, she said: 

“ I read very slowly; I shall not have finished it before to-morrow. 
It will be amusing to-morrow! Look in during the evening. ” 

He certainly had no designs upon her, and yet he felt indignant. 
He conceived a singular friendship for this young couple who exas¬ 
perated him; they seemed to take life so stupidly, And the idea 
came to him of rendering them a service in spite of them; he would 
take them out to dinner, make them tipsy, and then amuse himself 
by pushing them into each other’s arms. When such fits of kind¬ 
ness got hold of him, he, who would not have lent ten francs, 


POT-BOUILLE 


57 


delighted in flinging his money out of the window to bring two 
lovers together and give them joy. 

Little Madame Pichon’s coldness, however, brought Octave hack 
to the ardent Valerie. This one, certainly, would not require to he 
breathed upon twice on the hack of her neck. He was advancing 
in her favor: one day that she was going up-stairs before him, he 
had ventured to compliment her on her ankle, without her appear¬ 
ing displeased. 

At length the opportunity so long watched for presented itself. 

It was the evening that Marie had made him promise to look in; 
they would he alone to talk about the novel, as her husband was not 
to be home till very late. But the young man had preferred to' go 
out, seized with fright at the thought of this literary treat. How¬ 
ever, he had decided to venture upon it, toward ten o’clock, when 
he met Valerie’s maid on the first-floor landing with a scared look 
on her face, and who said to him: 

“ Madame has gone into hysterics, my master is out, and every one 
opposite has gone to the theater. Pray come in. I am all alone; I 
don’t know what to do. ” 

Valerie was stretched out in an easy-chair in her bed-room, her 
limbs rigid. The maid had unlaced her stays, and her bosom was 
heaving. The attack subsided almost immediately. She opened 
her eyes, was surprised to see Octave there, and acted, moreover, as 
she might have done in the presence of a doctor. 

“ I must ask you to excuse me, sir,” murmured she, her voice still 
choking. “ I have only had this girl since yesterday, and she lost 
her head.” 

Her perfect coolness in adjusting her stays and fastening up her 
dress again embarrassed the young man. He remained standing, 
swearing not to depart thus, yet not daring to sit down. She had 
sent away the maid, the sight of whom seemed to irritate her; then 
she went to the window to breathe the cool outdoor air in long, ner¬ 
vous inspirations, her mouth wide open. After a short silence, they 
commenced talking. She had first suffered from these attacks when “ 
fourteen years old; Doctor Juillerat was tired of prescribing for 
her; sometimes they seized her in the arms, sometimes in the loins. 
However, she was getting used to them; she might as well have 
them as anything else, as no one was really perfectly well. And, 
whilst she talked, with scarcely any life in her limbs, he excited 
himself with looking at her. He thought her provoking in the 
midst of her disorder, with her leaden complexion, her face upset 
by the attack as though by a whole night of love. Behind the 
black mass of her loose hair, which hung over her shoulders, he fan¬ 
cied he beheld the husband’s poor and beardless head. Then, 
stretching out his hands, with the unrestrained gesture with which 
he would have seized some harlot, he tried to take hold of her. 

“ Well! what now? ” asked she, in a voice full of surprise. 

In her turn she looked at him, whilst her eyes were so cold, her 
flesh so calm, that he felt frozen, and let bis lands fall with an awk- 


58 


POT-BOUILLE 


ward slowness, fully aware of the ridiculousness of his gesture. 
Then, in a last nervous gape, which she stifled, she slowly added: 

“ Ah! my dear sir, if you only knew! ” 

And she shrugged her shoulders, without getting angry, as though 
crushed beneath her contempt for man and her weariness of him. 
Octave thought she was abqut to have him turned out when he saw 
her move toward a hell-pull, dragging her loosely fastened skirts 
along with her. But she merely required some tea, and she ordered 
it to be very weak and very hot. Altogether nonplussed, he muttered 
some excuses and made for the door, whilst she again reclined in 
the depths of her easy-chair, with the air of a chilly woman greatly 
in want of sleep. 

On the stairs, Octave stopped at each landing. She did not like 
that, then ? He had just seen how indifferent she was, without 
desire as without indignation, as difficult to deal with as his employer, 
Madame Hedouin. Why did Campardon say she was hysterical ? 
it was absurd to take him in by telling him such humbug; for, had 
it not been for the architect’s lie, he would never have risked such 
an adventure. And he remained quite bewildered by the result, his 
ideas of hysteria altogether upset, and thinking of the different 
stories that were going about. He recalled Trublot’s words: one 
never knows what to expect with those crazy sort of people whose 
eyes shine like balls of fire. 

Upon his landing, Octave, annoyed with all women, walked as 
softly as he could. But the Pichons’ door opened, and he had to 
resign himself. Marie awaited him, standing in the narrow room, 
which the charred wick of the lamp but imperfectly lighted. She 
had drawn the crib close to the table, and Lilitte was sleeping there 
in the circle of the yellow light. The lunch things had probably 
also served for the dinner, for the closed book was lying beside a 
dirty plate full of radish ends. 

“ Have you finished it? ” asked Octave, surprised at the young 
woman’s silence. 

She seemed intoxicated, her face was swollen as though she had 
just awakened from a too heavy sleep. 

“ Yes, yes,” said she, with an effort. “Oh! I have passed the 
day, my head in my hands, buried in it. When the fit takes one, 
one no longer knows w*here one is. I have such a stiff neck. ” 

And, feeling pains all over her, she did not speak any more of the 
book, but was so full of her emotion and of confused dreams engen¬ 
dered by her reading, that she was choking. Her ears rang with 
the distant calls of the horn, blown by the huntsman of her 
romances, in the blue background of ideal loves. Then, without the 
least reason, she said that she had been to Saint-Koch that morning 
to hear the nine o’clock mass. She had wept a great deal, religion 
replaced everything. 

“Ah! I feel better,” resumed she, heaving a deep sigh, and 
standing still in front of Octave. 

A pause ensued. She smiled at him with her candid eyes. He 


POT-BOUILLE 


59 


had never thought her so useless, with her scanty hair and her 
washed-out features. But, as she continued looking at him, she 
became very pale, and almost stumbled; and he was obliged to put 
out his hands to support her. 

u Good heavens! good heavens! ” stuttered she, sobbing. 

He continued to hold her, feeling considerably embarrassed. 

“ You should take a little infusion. You have been reading too 
much. ” 

“ Yes, it upset me, when on closing the book I found myself alone. 
How kind you are, Monsieur Mouret! I might have hurt myself, 
had it not been for you. ” 

He looked for a chair on which to seat her. 

“ Shall I light a fire ? ” 

u No, thank you, it would dirty your hands. I have noticed that 
you always wear gloves.” 

And choking again at the idea, and suddenly feeling faint, she 
launched an awkward kiss into space, as though in a dream, a kiss 
which slightly touched the young man’s ear. 


CHAPTER Y. 

That evening, there was a reception and concert at the Duvey- 
riers’. Toward nine o’clock, Octave, who had been invited for the 
first time, was just finishing dressing. He was grave, and felt 
irritated with himself. Why had he missed fire with Valerie, a 
woman so well connected? And Berthe Josserand, ought he not to 
have reflected before refusing her? At the moment he was tying 
his white tie, the thought of Marie Pichon had become unbearable 
to him; five months in Paris, and nothing but that wretched adven¬ 
ture ! It was as painful to him as a disgrace, for he well saw the 
emptiness and the uselessness of such a connection. And he vowed 
to himself, as he took up his gloves, that he would no longer waste 
his time in such a manner. He was decided to act, as he had at 
length got into society, where opportunities were certainly not 
wanting. 

But, at the end of the passage, Marie was watching for him. 
Pichon not being there, he was obliged to go in for a moment. 

“ How smart you are! ” murmured she. 

They had never been invited to the Duveyriers’, and that filled 
her with respect for the first-floor drawing-room. Besides, she 
was jealous of no one, she had neither the strength nor the will to 
be so. 

“ I shall wait for you,” resumed she, holding up her forehead. 
“ Do not come up too late; you can tell me how you amused your¬ 
self. ” 



60 


POT-BOUILLE 


Octave had to deposit a kiss on her hair. Though relations were 
established between them, according to his fancy, whenever a 
desire or want of something to do drew him to her, they did not, as 
yet, address each other very familiarly. He, at length, went down¬ 
stairs ; and she, leaning over the balustrade, followed him with her 
eyes. 

At the same minute q&ite a drama was enacting at the Josser- 
ands\ In the mind of the mother, the Duveyriers’ party, to which 
they were going, was to decide the question of a marriage 
between Berthe and August Vabre. The latter, who had been 
vigorously attacked for a fortnight past, still hesitated, evidently 
entertaining doubts with respect to the dowry. So Madame Jos- 
serand, for the purpose of striking a decisive blow, had written to 
her brother, informing him of the contemplated marriage, and 
reminding him of his promises, with the hope that, in his answer, 
he might say something that she could turn to account. And all 
the family were awaiting nine o’clock, before the dining-room stove, 
dressed ready to go down, when Monsieur Gourd brought up a letter 
from uncle Bachelard which had been forgotten under Madame 
Gourd’s snuff-box since the last delivery. 

“Ah! at last! ” said Madame Josserand, tearing open the 
envelope. 

The father and the two daughters watched her anxiously as she 
read. Addle, who had had to dress the ladies, was moving "heavily 
about, clearing the table, still covered with the dirty crockery from 
the dinner. But Madame Josserand turned ghastly pale. 

“ Nothing! nothing! ” stuttered she, not a clear sentence! He 
will see later on, at the time of the marriage. And he adds that 
he loves us very much all the same. What a confounded scoun¬ 
drel !” 

Monsieur Josserand, in his evening dress, sank into a chair. 
Hortense and Berthe also sat down, their legs feeling worn out; and 
they remained there, the one in blue, the other in pink, in their 
eternal costumes, altered once again. 

“ .1 have always said, ” murmured the father, “that Bachelard is 
imposing upon us. He will never give a sou. ” 

Standing up-in her flaring dress, Madame Josserand was reading 
the letter over again. Then her anger burst out. 

“ Ah! men! men! That one, one would think him an idiot, he 
leads such a life. Well! not a bit of it! Though he never seems 
to be in his right mind, he opens his eye the moment any one speaks 
to him of money. Ah ! men! men! ” 

She turned toward her daughters, to whom this lesson was 
addressed. 

“ It has come to the point, you see, that I ask myself why it is 
you have such a mania for getting married. Ah! if you had been 
worried out of your lives by it as I have! Not a fellow who loves 
you for yourselves and who would bring you a fortune without hag¬ 
gling! Millionaire uncles who, after having been fed for twenty 


POT-BOUILLE 


61 


years, will not even give their nieces a dowry! Husbands who are 
quite incompetent, oh! yes, sir, incompetent ! ” 

Monsieur Josserand bowed his head. Adeie, who was not even 
listening, was quietly finishing clearing the table. But Madame 
Josserand suddenly turned angrily upon her. 

“What are you doing there, spying upon us? Go into your 
kitchen and see if I am there! ” 

And she wound up by saying: 

“ In short, everything for those wretched beings, the men; and 
for us, not even enough to satisfy our hunger. Listen! they are only 
fit for being taken in! Remember my words! ” 

Hortense and Berthe nodded their heads, as though deeply pene¬ 
trated by what their mother had been saying. 

At length, Berthe spoke: 

“ So it is all up. Shall we take our things off? ” 

But, at this, Madame Josserand’s energy at once returned to her. 
Eh? what? take their things off! and why, pray! were they not 
respectable people? was not an alliance with their family as good as 
with any other? The marriage should take place all the same, she 
would die rather. And she rapidly distributed their parts to each; 
the two young ladies were instructed to be very amiable to Auguste, 
and not to leave him until he had taken the leap; the father 
received the mission of overcoming old Vabre and Duveyrier, by 
agreeing with everything they said, if his intelligence was sufficient 
to enable him to do such a thing; as for herself, desirous of neglect¬ 
ing nothing, she undertook the women, she would know how to get 
them all on her side. Then, collecting her thoughts, and casting a. 
last glance round the dining-room, as though to make sure that no 
weapon had been forgotten, she put on the terrible look of a man of 
w T ar about to lead his daughters to massacre, and uttered these 
words, in a powerful voice: 

“ Let us go down! ” 

And down they went. In the solemnity of the staircase, Monsieur 
Josserand was full of uneasiness, for he foresaw many disagreeable 
things for the too narrow conscience of a worthy man like himself. 

When they entered, there was already a crush at the Duveyriers\ 
The enormous grand piano occupied one entire end of the drawing¬ 
room, the ladies being seated in front of it on rows of chairs, like 
at the theater; and two dense masses of black coats filled up the 
doorways leading to the dining-room and the parlor. 

Just at that moment Madame Duveyrier was^ taking her seat at 
the piano. With a gesture, Madame Josserand smilingly begged 
she would not disturb herself; and she left her daughters in the 
midst of the men, as she accepted a chair for herself between 
Valerie and Madame Juzeur. Monsieur Josserand had made for 
the parlor, where the landlord, Monsieur Vabre, was dozing at his 
usual place, in the corner of a sofa. There were also Campardon, 
Theophile and Auguste Vabre, Dr. Juillerat and the Abbe Mauduit, 
forming a group: whilst Trublot and Octave, who had rejoined 


62 


POT-BOUILLE 


each other, had flown from the music to the end of the dining-room. 
Near them, and behind the stream of black coats, Duveyrier, thin 
and tall of stature, was looking fixedly at his wife seated at the 
piano waiting for silence. In the buttonhole of his coat he wore 
the ribbon of the Legion of Honor in a neat little rosette. 

“ Hush! hush! silencp! ” murmured some friendly voices. 

Then Clotilde Duveyrier commenced one of Chopin’s most diffi¬ 
cult serenades. Tall and handsome, with magnificent red hair, she 
had a long face, as pale and cold as snow; and, in her gray eyes, 
music alone kindled a flame, an exaggerated passion on which she 
existed without any other desire either of the flesh or the spirit. 
Duveyrier continued watching her; then, after the first bars, a nervous 
exasperation contracted his lips, he drew aside and kept himself at 
the farthest end of the dining-room. On his clean-shaven face, 
with its pointed chin and eyes all askew, large red blotches indi¬ 
cated a bad blood, quite a pollution festering just beneath the skin. 

Trublot, who was examining him, quietly observed : 

“ He does not like music.” 

11 Nor I, either,” replied Octave. 

Meanwhile Clotilde was knocking off the difficult passages with 
extraordinary composure. She handled her piano like a circus- 
rider her horse. Octave’s attention was solely occupied with the 
furious working of her hands. 

“ Just look at her fingers, ” said he, “ it is astonishing! A quar¬ 
ter of an hour of that must hurt her immensely.” 

And they both fell to talking of women without troubling themselves 
any further with what she was playing. Octave felt rather embar¬ 
rassed on catching sight of Valerie; what line of conduct should he 
pursue? ought he speak to her or pretend not to see her? Trublot 
affected a great disdain : there was still not one to take his fancy; 
and, as his companion protested, looking about, and saying that 
there was surely one amongst the number who would suit him, he 
learnedly declared: 

11 Well! take your choice, and you will see afterward, when the 
gloss is off. Eh ? not the one with the feathers over-there; nor the 
blonde in the mauve dress; nor that old party, though she at least 
has the merit of being fat. I tell you, my dear fellow, it is absurd 
to seek for anything of the kind in society. Plenty of airs, but not 
a particle of pleasure ! ” 

Octave smiled. He had to make his position in the world; he 
could not afford merely to consider his taste, like Trublot, whose 
father was so rich. The sight of those rows of women set him mus¬ 
ing; he asked himself which among them he would have chosen for 
his fortune and his pleasure, if he had been allowed to take one of 
them away. As he was weighing them with a glance, one after the 
other, he suddenly exclaimed: 

“ Hallo! my employer’s wife ! She visits here, then ? ” 

“ Did you not know it? ” asked Trublot. “ In spite of the differ¬ 
ence in their ages, Madame Hedouin and Madame Duveyrier are two 


POT-BOUILLE 


G3 


School friends. They used to be inseparable, and were called the 
polar bears, because they were always fully twenty degrees below 
freezing point. They are some more of the ornamental class! 
Duveyrier would be in a sad plight if he had not some other hot 
water-bottle for his feet in winter time.” 

But Octave had now become serious. For the first time he beheld 
Madame Hedouin in a low neck dress, her shoulders and arms bare, 
with her black hair plaited in front; and she appeared in the ardent 
light as the realization of his desires — a superb woman, extremely 
healthy and calmly beautiful, who would be a benefit in every way 
to a man. Complicated plans were already absorbing him, when an 
awful din awoke him from his dream. 

“ What a relief! it is finished!” said Trublot. 

Compliments were being showered upon Clotilde. Madame 
Josserand, who had hastened to her, was pressing her hands; whilst 
the men resumed their conversation, and the ladies fanned them¬ 
selves more vigorously. Duveyrier then ventured back into the 
parlor, where Trublot and Octave followed him. Whilst in the 
midst of the skirts, the former whispered into the latter’s ear: 

“ Look on your right. The angling has commenced. ” 

It was Madame Josserand who was setting Berthe onto Auguste. 
He had imprudently gone up to the ladies to wish them good evening. 
His head was not bothering him so much just then; he merely felt 
a touch of neuralgia in his left eye; but he dreaded the end of the 
party, for there was going to be singing, and nothing was worse for 
him than this. 

“ Berthe,” said the mother, “ tell Monsieur Yabre of the remedy 
you copied for him out of that book. Oh! it is a sovereign cure for 
headaches!” 

And, having started the affair, she left them standing beside a 
window. 

“ By Jove! they are going in for chemistry!” murmured Trublot. 

In the parlor Monsieur Josserand, desious of pleasing his wife, 
had remained seated before Monsieur Yabre, feeling very embar¬ 
rassed, for the old gentleman was asleep, and he did not dare awake 
him to do the amiable. But, when the music ceased, Monsieur 
Yabre raised his eyelids. Short and stout and completely bald, 
save for two tufts of white hair over his ears, he had a ruddy face, 
with thick lips, and round eyes almost at the top of his head. 
Monsieur Josserand having politely inquired after his health, the 
conversation began. The retired notary, whose four or five ideas 
always followed the same order, commenced by making an observa¬ 
tion about Versailles, where he had practiced during forty years; 
then he talked of his sons, once more regretting that neither the one 
nor the other had shown himself capable of carrying on the practice, 
so that he had decided to sell it and inhabit Paris; after which he 
came to the history of his house, the building of which was the 
romance of his life. 

“ I have buried three hundred thousand francs in it, sir. A superb 


64 


FOT-BOUILLE 


speculation, my architect said. But to-day I have great difficulty 
iu getting the value of my money; more especially as all of my children 
have come to live here, with the idea of not paying me, and I should 
never have a quarter’s rent, if I did not apply for it myself on the 
fifteenth. Fortunately, I have work to console me. ” 

“ Do you still work much ?” asked Monsieur Josserand. 

“ Always, always, sir! ” replied the old gentleman, with the energy 
of despair. “ Work is life to me.” 

And he explained his great task. For ten years past he had 
every year waded through the official catalogue of the exhibition of 
paintings, writing on tickets each painter’s name, and the paintings 
exhibited. He spoke of it with an air of weariness and anguish ; 
the whole year scarcely gave him sufficient time; the task was often 
so arduous that it sometimes proved too much for him; for instance, 
when a lady artist married, and then exhibited under her husband’s 
name, how was he to see his way clearly ? 

“ My work will never be complete; it is that which is killing me, ” 
murmured he. 

“ You take a great interest in art, do you not ? ” resumed 
Monsieur Josserand, to flatter him. 

Monsieur Yabre looked at him, full of surprise. 

“ No, I do not require to see the paintings. It is merely a matter 
of statistics. There now! I had better go to bed, my head will be 
all the clearer to-morrow. Good-night, sir. ” 

He leaned on a walking-stick, which he used even in the house, 
and withdrew, walking painfully, the lower part of his back already 
succumbing to paralysis. Monsieur Josserand felt perplexed; he 
had not understood very clearly; he feared he had not spoken of the 
tickets with sufficient enthusiasm. 

But a slight hubbub, coming from the drawing-room, attracted 
Trublot and Octave again to the door. They saw a lady of about 
fifty enter, very stout, and still handsome, followed by a young man, 
correctly attired, and with a serious air about him. 

“What! they arrive together! ” murmured Trublot. “Well! I 
never! ” 

The new-comers were Madame Dambreville and Leon Josserand. 
She had undertaken to find him a wife; then, whilst waiting, she 
had kept him for her own personal use; and they were now in their 
full honeymoon, attracting general attention in the middle-class 
drawing-rooms. There were whisperings amongst the mothers who 
had daughters to marry. But Madame Duveyrier was advancing to 
meet Madame Dambreville, who supplied her with young men for 
her choruses. Madame Josserand at once supplanted her, and over¬ 
whelmed her son’s friend with all sorts of attentions, reflecting that 
she might have need of her. Leon coldly exchanged a few words 
with his mother; yet she was now beginning to think that he would 
after all be able to do something for himself. 

“ Berthe does not see you,” said she to Madame Dambreville. 
“ Excuse her, she is telling Monsieur Auguste of some remedy.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


65 


11 But they are very well together, we must leave them alone, ” 
replied the lady, understanding at a glance. 

They both watched Berthe maternally. She had ended by push¬ 
ing Auguste into the recess caused by the window, and was keeping 
him there with her pretty gestures. He was becoming animated, 
and running the risk of a bad headache. 

Meanwhile, a group of grave men were talking politics in the 
parlor. There had been a stormy sitting of the Senate the day 
before, where they were discussing the address respecting the Korean 
question ; and Doctor Juillerat, whose opinions were atheistical and 
revolutionary, was maintaining that Rome ought to be given to the 
king of Italy; whilst the Abbe Mauduit, one of the heads of the 
Ultramontane party, prophesied the most awful catastrophes if 
Frenchmen did not shed the last drop of their blood in supporting 
the temporal power of the pope. 

“ Perhaps some modus vivendi may be found which will prove 
acceptable to both parties,” observed Leon Josserand, arriving. 

“ No, no agreement is possible,” said the priest. “ The Church 
could not make terms.” 

“ Then, it shall vanish! ” exclaimed the doctor. 

And, though great friends, having met at the bedsides of all the 
departing souls of the Saint-Roch district, they seemed irreconcila¬ 
ble, the doctor thin and nervous, the priest fat and affable. The 
latter preserved a polite smile, even when making his most absolute 
statements, like a man of the world, tolerant for the shortcomings 
of existence, but also like a Catholic who did not intend to abandon 
any of his religious belief. 

“ The Church vanish, pooh!” said Campardon, with a furious air, 
just to be well with the priest, from whom he was expecting a large 
order. 

“ Ah ! how they bore me! ” said Trublot, who had been trying to 
understand for some minutes past. 

Octave persuaded him to return to the ladies. In the recess of 
the window, Berthe was deafening Auguste with her laughter. 
This big fellow, with his pale blood, was forgetting his fear of 
women, and was becoming quite red beneath the attacks of the 
lovely girl, whose breath warmed his face. Madame Josserand, 
however, probably considered that the affair was dragging, for she 
looked fixedly at Hortense; and the latter obediently went and gave 
her sister her assistance. 

“Are you quite recovered, madame?” Octave dared to ask 
Valerie. 

“Quite, sir, thank you,” replied she coolly, as though she 
remembered nothing. 

Madame Juzeur spoke to the young man about some old lace 
which she wished to show him, to have his opinion of it ; and he had 
to promise to look in on her for a moment on the morrow. Then, as 


Pot-Bouille 5 


66 


POT-BOUILLE 


the Abbe Mauduit re-entered the drawing-room, she called him and 
made him sit beside her with an air of rapture. 

The conversation had again resumed. The ladies were discussing 
their servants. 

“ Well! yes,” continued Madame Duveyrier, “ I am satisfied with 
Clemence, she is a very clean and very active girl. ” 

“ And your Hippolyife,” asked Madame Josserand, “ had you not 
the intention of discharging him? ” 

Just then, Hippolyte, the footman, was handing round some ices. 
When he had withdrawn, tall, strong, and with a florid complexion, 
Clotilde answered, in an embarrassed way: 

We have decided to keep him. It is so unpleasant changing! 
You know, servants get used to one another, and I should not like 
to part with Clemence. ” 

Madame Josserand hastened to agree with her, feeling that they 
were on delicate ground. There was some hope of marrying the 
two together, some day; and the Abbe Mauduit, whom the Duvey- 
riers had consulted in the matter, slowly wagged his head, as 
though to dissemble a state of affairs known to all the house, but 
of which no one ever spoke. All the ladies now opened their hearts; 
Valerie had sent another servant about her business that very morn¬ 
ing, and that made three in a week; Madame Juzeur had decided 
to take a young girl of fifteen from the foundling hospital so as to 
teach her herself; as for Madame Josserand, her complaints of 
Adele seemed never likely to cease, a slut, a good-for-nothing, 
whose goings-on were most extraordinary. And they all, feeling 
languid in the blaze of the candles and the perfume of the flowers, 
sank deeper into these ante-room stories, wading through greasy 
account-books, and taking a delight in relating the insolence of a 
coachman or of a scullery maid. 

“ Have you seen Julie? ” abruptly asked Trublot of Octave, in a 
mysterious tone of voice. 

And, as the other looked at him in amazement, he added: 

“ My dear fellow, she is stunning. Go and see her. Just pretend 
you want to go somewhere, and then slip into the kitchen. She is 
stunning! ” 

He was speaking of the Duveyriers’ cook. The ladies’ conversa¬ 
tion was taking a turn: Madame Josserand was describing, with 
overflowing admiration, a very modest estate which the Duveyriers 
had near Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and which she had merely 
caught a glimpse of from the train, one day when she was going to 
Fontainebleau. But Clotilde did not like the country, she lived 
there as little as possible, merely during the holidays of her son, 
Gustave, who was then studying rhetoric at the Lycee Bonaparte. 

“ Caroline is right in not wishing to have any children,” declared 
she, turning toward Madame Hedouin, seated two chairs away 
from her. “ The little things interfere with all your plans! ” 

Madame Hedouin said that she liked them a good deal. But she 


POT-BOUILLE 


67 


was much too busy; her husband was constantly away, and she had 
everything to look after. 

Octave, standing up behind her chair, searched with a side glance 
the little curly hairs, as black as ink, on the nape of her neck, and 
the snowy whiteness of her bosom, which—her dress being open 
very low — disappeared in a mass of lace. She ended by completely 
confusing him, as she sat there so calm, speaking but rarely and 
with a continuous smile on her handsome face; he had never before 
seen so superb a creature, even at Marseilles. Decidedly, it was 
worth trying, though it would be a long task. 

“ Having children robs women of their good looks so quickly! 77 
said he, in her ear, leaning over, feeling an absolute necessity to 
speak to her, and yet finding nothing else to say. 

She slowly raised her large eyes, and then replied with the simple 
air with which she would give him an order at the warehouse. 

“Oh! no, Monsieur Octave; with me it is not for that. One must 
have the time, that is all. ,; 

But Madame Duveyrier intervened. She had merely greeted the 
young man with a slight bow, when Campardon had introduced him 
to her; and now she was examining him, andlistening to him, with¬ 
out seeking to hide a sudden interest. When she heard him con¬ 
versing with her friend, she could not help asking: 

“ Pray, excuse me, sir. What voice have you ? 77 

He did not understand immediately; but he ended by saying that 
his was a tenor voice. Then, Clotilde became quite enthusiastic; a 
tenor voice, really! what a piece of luck, tenor voices were becom¬ 
ing so rare ! Trublot, who was behind him, kept nudging him with 
his elbow, ferociously enjoying himself in his impassibility. 

“ Ah ! so you are in for it! 77 murmured he, when she had moved 
away. “ For myself, my dear fellow, she, first of all, thought I had 
a baritone voice; then, seeing that I did not get on all right, she 
tried me as a tenor; but, as I went no better, she has decided to use 
me to night as bass. I am one of the monks. 77 

But he had to leave Octave, as Madame Duveyrier was just then 
calling him; they were about to sing the chorus, the great piece of 
the evening. There was quite a commotion. Some fifteen men, all 
amateurs, and all recruited among the guests of the house, painfully 
opened a passage for themselves through the groups of ladies, to 
form in front of the piano. They were constantly brought to a 
standstill, and asked to be excused, in voices drowned by the hum 
of conversations, whilst the fans were moved more rapidly in the 
increasing heat. At length, Madame Duveyrier counted them; they 
were all there, and she distributed them their parts, which she had 
copied out herself. Campardon took the part of Saint-Bris; a 
young auditor attached to the Council of State was intrusted with 
De Nevers 7 few bars; then came eight nobles, four aldermen, and 
three monks, represented by barristers, clerks, and simple house¬ 
holders. She, who accompanied, had also reserved herself tbe part 
of Valentine, passionate cries which she uttered whilst striking 


68 


POT-BOUILLE 


chords; for she would have no lady amongst the gentlemen, the 
resigned troop of whom she directed with all the severity of a con¬ 
ductor of an orchestra. 

The conversation continued, an intolerable noise issued from the 
parlor especially, where the political discussions were evidently 
entering on a disagreeable phase. Then Clotilde, taking a key from 
her pocket, tapped gently with it on the piano. A murmur ran 
through the room, the voices dropped, two streams of black coats 
again flowed to the doors; and, looking over the heads, one beheld 
for a moment Duveyrier’s red-spotted face wearing an agonized 
expression. Octave had remained standing behind Madame Hedouin, 
the glances from his lowered eyes losing themselves in the shadows 
of her bosom, in the depths of the lace. But when the silence was 
almost complete there was a burst of laughter, and he raised his head. 
It was Berthe, who was amused at some joke of Auguste’s; she had 
heated his poor blood to such a point that he was becoming quite 
jovial. Every person in the drawing-room looked at them; mothers 
became grave; members of the family exchanged a glance. 

“ She has such spirits! ” murmured Madame Josserand, tenderly, 
in such a way as to be heard. 

Hortense, close to her sister, was assisting her with complacent 
abnegation, joining in her laughter, and pushing her up against the 
young man, whilst the breeze which entered through the partly open 
window behind them gently swelled the big crimson silk curtains. 

But a sepulchral voice resounded— all the heads turn toward the 
piano. Campardon, his mouth wide open, his beard spread out in a 
lyrical blast, was giving the first line: 

“ Yes, we are here assembled by the queen’s command.” 


Clotilde at once ran up a scale and down again: then, her eyes 
fixed on the ceiling, a look of fright on her face, she uttered the 
cry: 


“ I tremble! ” 


And the whole thing followed—the eight barristers, clerks and 
householders, theirnoses on their parts, in the posture of school-boys 
humming and hawing over a page of Greek, swore that they were 
ready to deliver France. This opening was a surprise; for the voices 
were stifled beneath the low ceiling; one was unable to catch more 
than a sort of hum, like a noise of passing carts full of paving stones 
causing the windows to rattle. But when Saint-Bris’ melodious 
line : “ For this holy cause —” unrolled the principal theme, some 
of the ladies recognized it, and nodded their heads knowingly. All 
were warming to the work; the nobles shouted out at random: 
“ We swear it! — We will follow you! ” and, each time, it was like 
an explosion which caught the guests full in the chest. 


POT-BOUILLE 


G9 


“ They sing too loud, ” murmured Octave in Madame Hedouin’s 
ear. 

She did not move. Then, as De Nevers’ and Valentine’s expla¬ 
nations bored him, more especially as the auditor attached to the 
Council of State was a false baritone, he corresponded by signs with 
Trublot, who, whilst awaiting the entrance of the monks, drew his 
attention with a wink to the window where Berthe was continuing 
to keep Auguste imprisoned. Now they were alone, in the fresh 
breeze from outside ; whilst, with her ear pricked up, Hortense stood 
before them, leaning against the curtain and mechanically twisting 
the loop. No one was watching them now; even Madame Josser- 
and and Madame Dambreville were looking away, after an instinc¬ 
tive exchange of glances. 

Meanwhile, Clotilde, her fingers on the keys, carried away and 
unable to risk a gesture, stretched her neck and addressed to the 
music-stand this oath, intended for De Nevers: 


“ Ah! from to-day all my blood is yours! ” 


The aldermen had made their entrance, a substitute, two attor¬ 
neys, and a notary. The quartet was well delivered, the line: 
“ For this holy cause — ” returned, spread out, supported by half 
tho chorus, in a continuous expansion. Campardon, his mouth 
opened wider and wider, gave the orders for the combat, with a ter¬ 
rible roll of syllables. And suddenly the chant of the monks burst 
forth: Trublot sang from his stomach, so as to reach the low 
notes. 

Octave, having had the curiosity to watch him singing, was struck 
with surprise when he again cast his eyes in the direction of the 
window. As though carried away by the chorus, Hortense had 
unfastened the loop, by a movement which might have been unin¬ 
tentional, and, in falling, the big crimson silk curtain had completely 
hidden Auguste and Berthe. They were there behind it, leaning 
against the window-bar, without a movement betraying their pres¬ 
ence. Octave no longer troubled himself about Trublot, who was 
just then blessing the daggers: “ Holy daggers, by us blessed.” 
Whatever could they be doing behind that curtain ? The fugue was 
commencing; to the deep tones of the monks, the chorus replied: 
“Death! death! death!” And still they did not move; perhaps, 
feeling the heat too much, they were simply watching the cabs pass. 
But Saint-Bris’ melodious line had again returned; by degrees all 
the voices uttered it with the whole strength of their lungs, pro¬ 
gressively and with a final outburst of extraordinary force. It was 
like a gust of wind burying itself in the farthest corners of the too 
narrow room, scaring the candles, making the guests turn pale and 
their ears bleed. Clotilde furiously strummed away on the piano, 
canning the gentlemen along with her with a glance; then the 
voices quieted down, almost whispering: “ At midnight, let there 


70 


POT-BOUILLE 


be not a sound! ” and she continued on alone, using the soft pedal, 
and imitating the cadenced and distant footsteps of some departed 
patrol. 

’ Then, suddenly, in the midst of this expiring music, of this relief 
after so much uproar, one heard a voice exclaim: 

11 You are hurting me!’’ 

All the heads again turned toward the window. Madame Dam- 
breville kindly made herself useful by going and pulling the curtain 
aside. And the whole drawing-room beheld Auguste looking very 
confused and Berthe very red, still leaning against the bar of the 
window. 

“ What is the matter, my treasure? ” asked Madame Josserand, 
earnestly. 

“ Nothing, mamma. Monsieur Auguste knocked my arm with the 
window. I was so warm! ” 

She turned redder still. There were affected smiles and scandal¬ 
ized pouts. Madame Duveyrier, who, for a month past, had been 
trying to keep her brother out of Berthe’s way, turned quite pale, 
more especially as the incident had spoilt the effect of her chorus. 
However, after the first moment of surprise, the applause burst 
forth, she was congratulated, and some amiable things were said 
about the gentlemen. How delightfully they had sung! what pains 
she must have taken to get them to sing so well in time! Really, 
it could not have been rendered better at a theater. But, beneath 
all this praise, she could not fail to hear the whispering which went 
round the drawing-room: the young girl was too much compro¬ 
mised ; a marriage had became inevitable. 

“ Well! he is hooked! ” observed Trublot, as he rejoined Octave. 
u What a ninny! as though he could not have pinched her whilst we 
were all bellowing! I thought all the while that he was taking 
advantage of it. You know, in drawing-rooms where they go in for 
singing, one pinches a lady, and, if she cries out, it does not matter, 
no one hears! ” 

Berthe, now very calm, was again laughing, whilst Hortense 
looked at Auguste with her crabbed air of a girl who had taken a 
diploma; and, in their triumph, the mother’s lessons reappeared, 
the undisguised contempt for man. All the gentlemen had now 
invaded the drawing-room, mingling with the ladies, and raising 
their voices. Monsieur Josserand, feeling sick at heart through 
Berthe’s adventure, had drawn near his wife. He listened uneasily 
as she thanked Madame Dambreville for all her kindness to their 
son Leon, whom she had most decidedly changed to his advantage. 
But his uneasiness increased when he heard her again refer to her 
daughters. She pretended to converse in low tones with Madame 
Juzeur, though speaking all the while for Valerie and Clotilde, who 
were standing up close beside her. 

“ Well, yes! her uncle mentioned it in a letter again to-day; 
Berthe will have fifty thousand francs. It is not much, no doubt, 
but when the money is there, and as safe as the bank, too ! ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


71 


This lie roused his indignation. He could not help stealthily- 
touching her shoulder. She looked at him, forcing him to lower his 
eyes before the resolute expression of her face. Then, as Madame 
Duveyrier turned round quite amiably, she asked her with great 
concern for news of her father. 

“ Oh! papa has probably gone to bed,” replied the young woman, 
quite won over. “ He works so hard! ” 

Monsieur Josserand said that Monsieur Yabre had indeed retired, 
so as to have his ideas clear for the morrow. And he mumbled a 
few words: a most remarkable mind, extraordinary faculties; ask¬ 
ing himself at the same time where he would get that dowry 
from, and thinking what a figure he would cut the day the mar¬ 
riage contract had to be signed. 

A great noise of chairs being moved now filled the drawing-room. 
The ladies passed into the dining-room, where the tea was ready 
served. Madame Josserand sailed victoriously in, surrounded by 
her daughters and the Vabre family. Soon only the group of seri¬ 
ous men remained amidst the vacant chairs. Campardon had 
buttonholed the Abbe Mauduit: there was a question of some 
repairs to the calvary at Saint-Roch. The architect said he was 
quite free, for the diocese of Evreux gave him very little to do. All 
he had in hand there was a pulpit and a heating apparatus, and 
also some new ranges to be placed in the bishop’s kitchen, which 
work his inspector was quite competent to see after. Then the 
priest promised to have the matter definitely settled at the next 
meeting of the vestry. And they both joined the group where 
Duveyrier was being complimented on a judgment, of which he 
admitted himself to be the author j the presiding judge, who was his 
friend, reserved certain easy and brilliant tasks for him, so as to 
bring him to the fore. 

“ Have you read this last novel? ” asked Leon, looking through a 
number of the “ Revue des Deux Mondes, ” lying on a table. “ It is 
well written; but there is another adultery, it is really becoming 
wearisome! ” 

And the conversation turned upon morality. Campardon said 
that there were some very virtuous women. All the others agreed 
with him. Moreover, according to the architect, one could always 
live peacefully at home if one only went the right way about it. 
Theophile Yabre observed that it depended on the woman, without 
explaining himself farther. They wished to have Doctor Juillerat’s 
opinion, but he smiled, and begged to be excused: he considered 
virtue was a question of health. During this, Duveyrier had re¬ 
mained wrapped in thought. 

“ Dear me! ” murmured he at length, “ these authors exaggerate; 
adultery is very rare amongst educated people. A woman who 
comes from a good family has in her soul a flower-” 

He was for grand sentiments, he uttered the word “ ideal ” with 
an emotion which brought a mist to his eyes. And he said that the 
Abbe Mauduit was right when the latter spoke of the necessity for 


72 


POT-BOUILLE 


the wife and mother having some religious belief. The conversation 
was thus brought back to religion and politics, at the point where 
these gentlemen had previously left it. The church would never 
disappear, because it was the foundation of all families, the same as 
it was the natural support of governments. 

“ As a sort of police, perhaps it is,” murmured the doctor. 

Duveyrier, however, did not like politics being discussed in his 
house, and he contented himself with severely declaring, as he 
glanced into the dining-room, where Berthe and Hortense were stuff¬ 
ing Auguste with sandwiches: 

“ There is one fact, gentlemen, which settles everything: religion 
moralizes marriage.” 

At the same moment, Trublot, seated on a sofa beside Octave, 
was bending toward the latter. 

“ By the way,” asked he, “ would you like me to get you invited 
to a lady’s where there is plenty of amusement ? ” 

And, as his companion desired to know what kind of a lady, he 
added, indicating the counselor by a sign: 

“ His mistress.” 

“ Impossible! ” said Octave, in amazement. 

Trublot slowly opened and closed his eyes. It was so. When 
one married a woman who was disobliging and disgusted with one’s 
little ailments, and who strummed on her piano to the point of 
making all the dogs of the neighborhood ill, one had to go else¬ 
where and be made a fool of! 

“ Let us moralize marriage, gentlemen, let us moralize marriage, ” 
repeated Duveyrier in his rigid way, with his inflamed face, where 
Octave now distinguished the foul blood of secret vices. 

“Well, these are fine goings-on!” murmured Octave, whose 
respect for the house had received another shock. 

And seeing Madame Hedouin move toward the ante-room, he 
wished to reach there before her, and followed Trublot, who was also 
leaving. His intention was to see her home. She refused; it was 
scarcely midnight, and she lived so near. Then, a rose having 
fallen from the bouquet at her breast, he picked it up in spite, and 
made a pretense of keeping it. The young woman’s beautiful eye¬ 
brows contracted; then she said, in her quiet way: 

“ Pray open the door for me, Monsieur Octave. Thank you.” 

When she had departed, the young man, who was rather con¬ 
fused, looked for Trublot, But Trublot had disappeared, the same 
as he had done at the Josserands’. This time also, he must have 
slipped along the passage leading to the kitchen. 

Octave, greatly put out, went off to his room, his rose in his hand. 
Up-stairs, he beheld Marie leaning over the balustrade, at the place 
where he had left her; she had been listening for his footstep, and 
had hastened to see him come up. And when she had made him 
enter her room, she said: 

“ Jules has not yet come home. Did you enjoy yourself? Were 
there any pretty dresses ? ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


73 


But she did not give him time to answer. She had caught sight 
of the rose, and was seized with a childish delight. 

“ Is that flower for me? You have thought of me! Ah! how 
nice of you! how nice of you! ” 

And her eyes filled with tears, she became quite confused and very 
red. Then Octave, suddenly moved, kissed her tenderly. 

Toward one o’clock the Josserands withdrew in their turn. 
Adele always left a candle and some matches on a chair. When 
the members of the family, who had not exchanged a word coming 
up-stairs, had entered the dining-room, from whence they had gono 
down in despair, they suddenly yielded to a mad, delirious joy, hold¬ 
ing each others’ hands, and dancing like savages round the table; 
the father himself gave way to the contagion, the mother cut capers, 
and the daughters uttered little inarticulate cries, whilst the candle 
in the middle of them showed up them huge shadows careering 
along the walls. 

“ At last it is settled! ” said Madame Josserand, out of breath, 
dropping onto a chair. 

But she jumped up again at once, in a fit of maternal affection, 
and ran and imprinted two big kisses on Berthe’s cheeks. 

“ I am very pleased, very pleased indeed with you, my darling. 
You have just rewarded me for all my efforts. My poor girl, my 
poor girl, it is true, then, this time! ” 

Her voice was choking, her heart was in her mouth. She suc¬ 
cumbed in her flaring dress, beneath the weight of a deep and 
sincere emotion, suddenly overwhelmed in the hour of her triumph 
by the fatigues of her terrible campaign, which had lasted three 
winters. Berthe had to swear that she was not ill; for her mother 
thought she looked ill, and was full of little attentions, almost insist¬ 
ing on making her a cup of infusion. When the young girl was in 
bed, she went barefooted and carefully tucked her in, like in the 
already distant days of her childhood. 

Meanwhile, Monsieur Josserand, his head on his pillow, awaited 
her. She blew out the light, and stepped over him, to reach the 
side of the bed nearest the wall. He was wrapped in thought, his 
uneasiness having returned, his conscience all upset by that promise 
of a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And he ventured to mention 
his scruples aloud. Why make a promise when one has a doubt ot 
being able to keep it? It was not honest. 

“Not honest!” exclaimed Madame Josserand in the dark, her 
voice resuming its ferocious tone. “ It is not honest to let your 
daughters become old maids, sir; yes, old maids! Such was, per¬ 
haps, your dream! We have plenty of time to turn about; we can 
talk the matter over; we will end by persuading her uncle. And 
understand, sir, that in my family, we have always been honest! ” 


74 


POT-BOUILLE 


CHAPTER YI. 

On the morrow, which was a Sunday, Octave, with his eyes open, 
lay thinking for an hour in the warmth of the sheets. He awoke 
happy, full of the lucidity of the morning laziness. What need was 
there to hurry? He was very comfortable at “ The Ladies’ Para¬ 
dise; ” he was there losing all his provincial ways, and he had an 
absolute and profound conviction of one day possessing Madame 
Hedouin, who would make his fortune; but it was an affair that 
required prudence, a long series of gallant tactics. As he was doz¬ 
ing off again, forming his plans, allowing himself six months to 
succeed in, Marie Pichon’s image resulted in calming his impa¬ 
tience. 

“ Hang it! nine o’clock! ” said he, thoroughly roused by his clock 
striking. “I must get up.” 

A fine rain was falling. Then he made up his mind not to go out 
all day. He would accept an invitation to dine with the Pichons, 
which he had been refusing for some time past, dreading another 
meeting with the Vuillaumes. It would please Marie; he would 
find opportunities of kissing her behind the doors, and, as she was 
always asking for books, he even thought of giving her the surprise 
of a quantity which he had, stowed away in one of his boxes in the 
loft. When he was dressed, he went down to Monsieur Gourd to 
get the key of this common loft, where all the tenants got rid of 
whatever things were in their way, or which they had no present 
use for. 

Down below, on that damp morning, it was quite stifling in the 
heated staircase, the imitation marble, the tall looking-glasses, and 
the mahogany doors of which were covered with steam. Under the 
porch, a poorly clad woman, mother Perou, to whom the Gourds 
paid four sous an hour for doing the heavy work of the house, was 
washing the pavement with plenty of water, in face of the icy cold 
blast blowing from the courtyard. 

“ Eh! I say old ’un, just rub that a bit better, that I may not find 
a spot on it! ” called out Monsieur Gourd, warmly covered up, 
standing on the threshold of his apartment. 

And, Octave arriving, he talked to him of mother Perou with the 
brutal, domineering spirit, the mad mania for revenge, of former 
servants who were being served in their turn. 

“ A lazy creature that I can do nothing with ! I should like to 
have seen her at the duke’s! Ah, well! they stood no nonsense 
there! I’ll send her to the rightabout if she doesn’t give me my 
money’s worth! That’s all I care about. But, excuse me, what is 
it you require, Monsieur Mouret ? ’’ 

“ No one had better bother me,” concluded he, drawing himself 
up to the full height of his handsome figure. “I’m no longer working 


POT-BOUILLE 


75 


for a living. The key of the loft, you said, did you not, Monsieur 
Mouret ? Wherever have we put the key of the loft, my dear ? ” 

Madame Gourd, tenderly seated before a wood fire, the flames of 
which enlivened the big, light room, was drinking her coffee and 
milk out of a silver cup. She had no idea ; perhaps in one of the 
drawers. And, whilst soaking her toast, she did not take her eyes 
off the door of the servants’ staircase, at the other end of the court¬ 
yard, looking barer and severer than ever in the rain. 

“ Look out! here she is! ” said she suddenly, as a woman 
appeared in the doorway. 

Monsieur Gourd at once went and placed himself before his room, 
so as to prevent the woman from passing, whilst she slackened her 
footsteps with an air of anxiety. 

“We have been on the lookout for her since the first thing this 
morning, Monsieur Mouret,” resumed he, in a low voice. “Last 
night we saw her pass. You know that she comes from that car¬ 
penter", up-stairs, the only workman we have in the house, thank 
goodness! And if the landlord only listened to me, he would let the 
room remain empty, a servant’s room which does not go with the 
other apartments. For one hundred and thirty francs a year, it is 
really not worth while having such a scum in the place-” 

He interrupted himself, to ask the woman roughly: 

“ Where do you come from? ” 

“ From up-stairs, of course ! ” answered she, walking on. 

Then he exploded. 

“ We’ll have no women here, understand! The man who brings 
you has already been told so. If you return here to sleep, I’ll fetch 
a policeman, that’s what I’ll do! and we’ll see if you’ll continue your 
going-on in a respectable house ! ” 

“ Oh! don’t bother me! ” said the woman. “ I’ve a right here; I 
shall come if I choose. ” 

And she went off, followed by Monsieur Gourd’s indignation, as he 
talked of going up to fetch the landlord. Had any one heard the 
like! such a creature amongst respectable people, who did not tol¬ 
erate the least immorality! And it seemed as though that little 
room occupied by a workman was the abomination of the house, a 
bad place, the supervision of which offended the doorkeeper’s deli¬ 
cacy and spoilt his rest at night. 

“ And that key! ” Octave ventured to observe. 

But the doorkeeper, furious at a tenant’s having been able to see 
his authority disputed, fell on mother Perou, wishing to show that 
he knew how to make himself obeyed. Did she take him for a fool ? 
She had again splashed the door of his room with her broom. If he 
paid her out of his own pocket, it was to save him from dirtying his 
hands, and yet he continually had to clean up after her. 

“ I remember, my darling,” called Madame Gourd from her easy- 
chair, in which she passed the day, warming her fat person. “ It 
was I who hid the key under the shirts, so that the servants should 
not be always going into the loft, Come, give it to Monsieur Mouret. ” 


76 


POT-BOUILLE 


u They’re a nice lot, too, those servants! ” murmured Monsieur 
Gourd, who, from his many years in service, had preserved a hatred 
for menials. “ Here is the key, sir; hut I must ask you to bring it 
me back, for no place can be left open without the servants getting 
in there and misconducting themselves. ” 

To save crossing the wet courtyard, Octave went back up the 
principal staircase. It was not till he had reached the fourth floor 
that he gained the servants’ staircase, by taking the door of com¬ 
munication that was close to his room. Up above, a long passage 
was intersected twice at right angles; it was painted pale yellow 
with a dado of darker ochre; and the doors of the servants’ rooms, 
also yellow, were uniform and placed at equal distances, the same 
as in the corridor of a hospital. An icy chill came from the zinc 
roof. All was bare and clean, with the unsavory odor of the lodg¬ 
ings of the poor. 

The loft overlooking the courtyard was in the right wing, at the 
further end. But Octave, who had not been there since the day of 
his arrival, was going along the left wing, when suddenly a spec¬ 
tacle which he beheld inside one of the rooms, by the partly open 
door, brought him to a standstill and filled him with amazement. 
A gentleman was standing in his shirt sleeves before a little looking- 
glass, tying his white cravat. 

“ What! you here? ” said he. 

It was Trublot. He also, at first, stood as one petrified. No one 
ever came near there at that hour. Octave, who had walked in, 
looked at him in that room with its narrow iron bedstead, and its 
washstand on which a little bundle of woman’s hair was floating on 
the soapy water; and, perceiving the black dress coat hanging up 
amongst some aprons; he could not restrain himself from saying : 

“ So you sleep with the cook ? ” 

“ Not at all! ” replied Trublot, in a fright. 

Then, recognizing the stupidity of this lie, he began to laugh in 
his convinced and satisfied way. 

“ Eh ! she is amusing! I assure you, my dear fellow, it is awfully 
fine! ” 

Whenever he dined out, he escaped from the drawing-room to go 
and pinch the cook before her stove; and when she was willing to 
trust him with her key, he would take his departure before midnight, 
and go and wait patiently for her in her room, seated on a trunk, in 
his black dress coat and white tie. On the morrow, he would leave 
by the principal staircase toward ten o’clock, and pass before the 
doorkeeper as though he had been making an early call on one of 
the tenants. So long as he was pretty punctual at the stockbroker’s, 
his father was satisfied. Moreover, he was now employed in attend¬ 
ing the Bourse from twelve to three. It would sometimes happen 
that on a Sunday he would spend the whole day in some servant’s 
bed, happy, lost, his nose buried in the pillow. 

“ You, who are going to be so rich some day! ” said Octave, his 
face retaining an expression of disgust. 


POT-BOUILLE 


77 


Then Trublot learnedly declared: 

“ dear fellow, you don’t know what it is; don’t speak about it. ” 

And he stood up for Julie, a tall Burgundian of forty, with her 
big face pitted with small-pox, but who had the body of a superb 
woman. One might disrobe the ladies of the house; they were all 
sticks, not one would come up to her knee. Besides that, she was 
a girl very well to do; and to prove it he opened her drawers, dis¬ 
played a bonnet, some jewelry, and some chemises trimmed with 
lace, no doubt stolen from Madame Duveyrier. Octave, indeed, 
now noticed a certain coquettishness about the room, some gilded 
cardboard boxes on the drawers, a chintz curtain hung over the 
skirts, all the accessories of a cook aping the grand lady. 

“ There is no denying, you see, that one may own to this one,” 
repeated Trublot. “ If they were only all like her! ” 

At this moment a noise came from the servants’ staircase. It was 
Adele coming up to wash her ears, Madame Josserand having furi¬ 
ously forbidden her to proceed with her work until she had cleaned 
them with soap. Trublot peeped out and recognized her. 

“ Shut the door quick ! ” said he, very anxiously. “ Hush ! don’t 
say a word! ” 

He pricked up his ear, and listened to AdMe’s heavy footstep 
along the passage. 

“ You sleep with her too, then ? ” asked Octave, surprised at his 
paleness, and guessing that he dreaded a scene. 

But this time Trublot was coward enough to deny. 

“ Oh! no indeed! not with that slut! Whoever do you take me 
for, my dear fellow? ” 

He had seated himself on the edge of the bed, and, while waiting 
to finish dressing, begged Octave not to move; and both remained 
perfectly still, whilst that filthy Adele scoured out her ears, which 
took at least ten good minutes. They heard the tempest in her 
washhand basin. 

“ There is, however, a room between this one and hers,” softly 
explained Trublot, “ a room that is let to a workman, a carpenter, 
who stinks the place out with his onion soup. This morning again, 
it almost made me sick. And you know, in all houses, the partitions 
of the servants’ rooms are now almost as thin as sheets of paper. 
I don’t understand the landlords. It is not very decent, one can 
scarcely turn in one’s bed. I think it very inconvenient. ” 

When Adele had gone down again, he resumed his swagger and 
finished dressing himself, making free use of Julie’s combs and 
pomatum. Octave having spoken of the loft, he insisted on taking 
him there, for he knew the most out-of-the-way corner of that 
floor. And, as he passed the doors, he familiarly mentioned the 
servants’ names. 

“ My dear fellow, don’t lock the door, do this to oblige me,” said 
he to Octave, when he had helped him to take the books from the 
box. “ You see, when the loft is open, one can hide there and wait. ” 

Octave, having consented to deceive Monsieur Gourd, returned 


78 


POT-BOUILLE 


with Truhlot to Julie’s room. The young man had left his overcoat 
there. Then it was his gloves that he could not find; he shook the 
skirts, overturned the bed-clothes, raised such a dust and such an 
odor of soiled linen, that his companion, half suffocated, opened the 
window. It looked onto the narrow inner courtyard, which gave 
light to all the kitchens. And he was stretching out his head over 
this damp well, which exhaled the greasy odors of dirty sinks, when 
a sound of voices made him hastily withdraw. 

“ The little morning gossip,” said Trublot, on all fours under the 
bed, still searching. Just listen to it.” 

It was Lisa, who was leaning out of the window of the Campar- 
dons’ kitchen to speak to Julie, two stories below her. 

“ So it’s come off, then, this time? ” 

“ It seems so,” replied Julie, raising her head. “ You see, she 
did all she could to catch him. Hippolyte came from the drawing¬ 
room so disgusted, that he almost had an attack of indigestion. ” 

“If we were only to do a quarter as much ! ” resumed Lisa. 

But she disappeared a moment, to drink some broth that Victoire 
brought her. They got on well together, nursing each other’s vices, 
the maid hiding the cook’s drunkenness, and the cook facilitating 
the maid’s outings, from which the latter returned quite worn out, 
her limbs aching, her eyelids blue. 

“ Ah! my children, ” said Yictoire, leaning out in her turn, her 
elbows touching Lisa’s, “ you’re young. When you’ve seen what 
I’ve seen! At old Camparclon’s, there was a niece who had been 
well brought up, and who used to go and look at the men through 
the key-hole.” 

“ Pretty goings-on! ” murmured Julie, with the horrified air of a 
lady. “ Had I been in the place of the little one of the fourth floor, 
I’d have boxed Monsieur Auguste’s ears, if he’d touched me in the 
drawing-room! He’s a fine fellow! ” 

At these words, a shrill laugh issued from Madame Juzeur’s 
kitchen. Lisa, who was opposite, searched the room with a glance, 
aud caught sight of Louise, whose precocious fifteen years took a 
delight in listening to the other servants. 

“ She’s spying on us from morning to night, the chit,” said she. 

How stupid it is to thrust a child upon us! We sha’n’t be able to 
talk at all soon.” 

She did not finish. The sound of a suddenly opened window 
chased them away. A profound silence ensued. 

“ Look out! here’s madame! ” 

The silence of the tomb ensued. They all immediately plunged 
back into their kitchens; and from the dark chasm of the narrow 
court-yard all that ascended was the stench of the dirty sinks, like 
the exhalation of the hidden abominations of the families, stirred 
up there by the spite of the hirelings. It was the sewer of the 
house, the shames of which it carried off, whilst the masters were 
still lounging in their slippers, and the grand staircase unfolded the 
solemnity of its flights, in the silent suffocation of the hot-air stove. 


POT-BOUILLE 


79 


Octave recalled the blast of uproar he received full in the face, 
when entering the Campardons’ kitchen, the day of his arrival. 

“ They are very nice,” said he, simply. 

And, leaning out in his turn, he looked at the walls, as though 
annoyed at not having at once read through them, behind the imi¬ 
tation marble and the moldings bright with gilding. 

“ Where the devil has she stowed them away,” repeated Trub- 
lot who had searched everywhere for his white kid gloves. 

At length he discovered them at the bottom of the bed itself, 
flattened out and quite warm. He gave a last glance in the glass, 
went and hid the key in the place agreed upon, right at the end of 
the passage, underneath an old sideboard left behind by some 
lodger, and led the way down-stairs, accompanied by Octave. After 
passing the Josserands 7 door, on the grand staircase, he recovered 
all his assurance, with his overcoat buttoned up to the neck to hide 
his dress clothes and white tie. 

“ Good-bye, my dear fellow,” said he, raising his voice. “ I felt 
anxious, so I just looked in to hear how the ladies were. They 
passed a very good night. Good-bye. ” 

Octave watched him with a smile as he went down-stairs. Then, 
as it was almost lunch time, he decided to return the key of the loft 
later on. Duringlunch, at the Campardons 7 , he particularly watched 
Lisa, who waited at table. She had her usual clean and agreeable 
look; but, in his mind, he could still hear her defiling her lips with 
the most abominable words. His knowledge of women had not 
deceived him with respect to that girl with the flat chest. Madame 
Campardon continued to be enchanted with her, surprised that she 
did not steal anything, which was a fact, for her vice was of a differ¬ 
ent kind. Moreover, the girl seemed very kind to Ang61e, and the 
mother entirely trusted her. 

It so happened that on that day Angele disappeared when the 
dessert was placed on the table, and she could be heard laughing in 
the kitchen. Octave ventured to make an observation. 

“ You are, perhaps, wrong to let her be so free with the servants. 77 

“ Oh ! there is not much harm in it, 77 replied Madame Campar¬ 
don, in her languid way. “ Yictoire saw my husband born, and I am 
so sure of Lisa. Besides, how can I help it? the child gives me a 
headache. I should go crazy if I heard her jumping about me all 
day. 77 

The architect gravely chewed the end of his cigar. 

“ It is 1, 77 said he, “ who make Angele pass two hours in the kitchen 
every afternoom I wish her to become a good housewife. It teaches 
her a great deal. She never goes out, my dear fellow; she is continu¬ 
ally under our sheltering wing. You will see what a jewel we shall 
make of her. 77 

Octave said no more. On certain days, Campardon appeared to 
him to be very stupid; and, as the architect pressed him to go and 
hear a great preacher at Saint-Roch, he refused, obstinately persist¬ 
ing in remaining indoors. After telling Madame Campardon that he 


80 


POT-BOUILLE 


would not dine with them that evening, he was returning to his room, 
when he felt the key of the loft in his pocket. He preferred to go 
down and return it at once. 

But, on the landing, an unexpected sight attracted his attention. 
The door of the room let to the highly distinguished gentleman, 
whose name was never mentioned, happened to be open; and this 
was quite an event, for it was invariably shut, as though barred by 
the silence of the tomb. His surprise increased; he was looking for 
the gentleman’s work-table, and in its stead had discovered the cor¬ 
ner of a big bedstead, when he beheld a slim lady dressed in black, 
her face hidden behind a thick veil, come out of the room, whilst the 
door closed noiselessly behind her. 

Then, his curiosity being roused, he followed the lady down-stairs, 
to find out if she were pretty. But she hastened along with an anx¬ 
ious nimbleness, scarcely touching the Wilton carpet with her tiny 
boots, and leaving no trace in the house, save a faint odor of ver¬ 
bena. As he reached the vestibule, she disappeared, and he only 
beheld Monsieur Gourd standing under the porch, cap in hand, and 
bowing very low to her. 

When the young man had returned the doorkeeper his key, he 
tried to make him talk. 

“ She looks very lady-like,” said he. “ Who is she ? ” 

“ A lady,” answered Monsieur Gourd. 

And he would add nothing further. But he was more communi¬ 
cative regarding the gentleman on the third floor. Oh! a man 
belonging to the very best society, who had taken that room to come 
and work there quietly, one night a week. 

“ Ah! he works! ” interrupted Octave. 11 What at, pray? ” 

“ He was kind enough to ask me to keep his room tidy for him,” 
continued Monsieur Gourd, without appearing to have heard the 
question. “ And, you know, he pays money down. Ah ! sir, when 
one waits on people, one soon knows whether they are decent. He 
is everything that is most respectable; it is easily seen by his 
clothes. ” 

He was obliged to jump on one side, and Octave himself had to 
enter the doorkeeper’s room for a moment, in order to let the car¬ 
riage of the second-floor people, who were going to the Bois, pass. 
The horses pawed the ground, held back by the coachman, the reins 
high; and, when the big closed landau rolled under the vaulted roof, 
one beheld through the windows two handsome children, whose 
smiling faces almost hid the vague profiles of the father and mother. 
Monsieur Gourd drew himself up, polite but cold. 

“ They don’t make much noise in the house,” observed Octave. 

“ No one makes any noise,” said the doorkeeper, curtly. “ Each 
one lives as he thinks best, that’s all. There are people who know 
how to live, and there are people who don’t know how to live. ” 

The second floor tenants were judged severely, because they asso¬ 
ciated with no one. They appeared to be well off, however; but the 
husband wrote books, and, Monsieur Gourd mistrusted him, curling 


POT-BOUILLE 


81 


his lip with contempt ; more especially as no one knew what the 
family was up to in there, with its air of requiring nobody, and 
being always perfectly happy. It did not seem to him natural. 

Octave was opening the vestibule door, when Valerie returned. 
He drew politely on one side, to allow her to pass before him, 

“ Are you quite well, madame ? ” 

“Yes, sir; thank you. ” 

She was out of breath; and as she went up-stairs he looked at he? 
muddy boots, thinking of that lunch, with her head down and her 
feet in the air, which the servants had spoken of. She had no doubt 
walked home, not having been able to find a cab. A hot, unsavory 
odor came from her damp skirts. Fatigue, a placid weariness of all 
her flesh, made her at times, in spite of herself, place her hand on 
the balustrade. 

“ What a disagreeable day, is it not, madame? ” 

“ Frightful* sir. And, With that, the atmosphere is very close. ” 
She had reached the first-floor landing, and they bowed to each 
other. But, with a glance, he had seen her haggard face, her eye¬ 
lids heavy with sleep, her unkempt hair beneath the bonnet tied on 
in haste; and as he continued on his way up-stairs, he reflected, 
annoyed and angry. Then, why not with him ? He was neither 
more stupid nor uglier than the others, 

When before Madame Juzeur’s door, on the third floor, his promise 
of the evening before recurred to him. He felt curious about that 
little woman, so discreet and with eyes like periwinkles. He rang. 
It was Madame Juzuer herself who answered the door. 

“ Ah ! dear sir, how kind of you! Pray walk in.” 

There was a softness about the lodging which smelt a bit stuffy ; 
carpets and hangings everywhere, seats as yielding as down, with 
the warm, unruffled atmosphere of a chest padded with old rainbow- 
colored satin. In the drawing-room, to which the double curtains 
imparted the peacefulness of a church, Octave was invited to seat 
himself on a broad and very low sofa. 

“ Here is the lace,” resumed Madame Juzeur, reappearing with a 
sandal-wood box full of finery. “Iam going to make a present of 
it to some one, and I am curious to know its value. ” 

It was a piece of very old Brussels. Octave examined it carefully, 
and ended by valuing it at three hundred francs. Then, without 
waiting further, as their hands were both handling the lace, he bent 
forward and kissed her fingers, fingers as delicate as a little girl’s. 

“ Oh! Monsieur Octave, at my age! you cannot think what you are 
doing! ” murmured Madame Juzeur, prettily, without getting angry. 

She was thirty-two, and pretended she was quite old. And she 
made her usual allusion to her misfortunes; good heavens! yes, after 
ten days of married bliss, the cruel man had gone off one morning 
and had not returned, nobody had ever discovered why. 

“ You can understand,” continued she, gazing up at the ceiling, 
“ that all is ovor for tfio wr, man w ho has gone through this. ” 


82 


POT-BOUILLE 


Octave had kept hold of her little warm hand, which seemed to 
mold itself to his, and he continued kissing it lightly, on the fingers. 
She turned her eyes toward him, and gazed upon him with a vague 
and tender look; then, in a maternal way, she uttered this single 
word: 

“ Child!” 

Thinking himself encouraged, he wished to take her round the 
waist and draw her onto the sofa; hut she freed herself without 
any violence, and slipped from his arms, laughing, and with an air 
of thinking that he was merely playing. 

“ No, leave me alone, do not touch me, if you wish that we should 
remain good friends.” 

“ Then, no ? ” asked he in a low voice. 

“ What, no ? What do you mean ? Oh! my hand as much as 
you like! ” 

He had again taken hold of her hand. But, this time, he opened 
it, kissing it on the palm; and, her eyes half closed, treating the 
little game as a joke, she opened her fingers like a cat spreads out its 
claws to he tickled inside its paw. She did not let him go farther 
than the wrist. The first day, a sacred line was drawn there, where 
harm began. 

“The priest is coming up-stairs,” Louise suddenly entered and 
said, on returning from some errand. 

The orphan had the yellow complexion and the squashed features 
of girls forgotten on doorsteps. She hurst into an idiotic laugh on 
beholding the gentleman eating, as she thought, out of her mistress’ 
hand. But, at a glance from the latter, she hastened away. 

“ I greatly fear I shall never be able to do anything with her,” 
resumed Madame Juzeur. “ However, it is only right to try and put 
one of those poor souls into the straight path. Come this way, if 
you please, Monsieur Mouret. ” 

She conducted him to the dining-room, so as to leave the drawing¬ 
room to the priest, whom Louise ushered in. She invited Octave to 
come again and have a chat. It would be a little company for her; 
she was always so sad and so lonely! Happily, religion consoled 
her. 

That evening, toward five o’clock, Octave experienced a real 
relief in making himself comfortable at the Pichons’ whilst waiting 
for dinner. 

Marie blushed with joy on seeing him place the pile of hooks 
which he had fetched her in the morning on the sideboard. She 
kept saying: 

“ How nice of you, Monsieur Octave! Oh! thank you, thank you! 
And how kind to come early! Will you have a glass of sugar and 
water with some cognac ? It assists the appetite. ” 

He accepted, just to please her. Everything appeared pleasant 
to him, even Pichon and the Vuillaumes, who conversed round the 
table, slowly mumbling over again ther usual Sunday conversation. 
Marie, now and again, ran to the kitchen, where she was cooking a 


POT-BOUILLE 


83 


boned shoulder of mutton; and he dared in a chaffing way to follow 
her, seizing hold of her before the stove, and kissing her on the nape 
of her neck. She, without a cry and without a start, turned round 
and kissed him in her turn on the mouth, with lips which were 
always cold. This coolness seemed delicious to the young man. 

“ Well, and your new Minister?” asked he of Pichon, on return¬ 
ing into the room. 

But the clerk gave a start. Ah! there was going to be a new 
Minister of Public Instruction! He knew nothing of it; no one 
ever troubled about that at the Ministry. 

“The weather is so bad!” he abruptly remarked. “ It is quite 
impossible to keep one’s trousers clean!” 

Madame Vuillaume talked of a girl at Batignolles who had gone 
to the bad. 

“You will scarcely believe me, sir,” said she. “ She had been 
exceedingly well brought up; but she felt so bored at her parents, 
that she had twice tried to throw herself into the street. It is 
incredible! ” 

“They should have put bars on the windows,” said Monsieur 
Vuillaume simply. 

The dinner was delightful. This kind of conversation lasted all, 
the time around the modest board lighted by a little lamp. Pichon 
and Monsieur Vuillaume, having got onto the staff of the Ministry, 
did nothing but talk of head-clerks and second head-clerks; the 
father-in-law obstinately alluded to those of his time, then recol¬ 
lected that they were dead; whilst, on his side, the son-in-law con¬ 
tinued to speak of the new ones, in the midst of an inextricable 
confusion of names. 

Punctually at ten o’clock, the Vuillaumes rose to take their 
departure. Pichon put on his hat. Every Sunday he saw them to 
the omnibus. Out of deference, he had got into the habit about the 
time of his marriage, and the Vuillaumes would have been deeply 
offended had he now tried to give it up. All three made for the 
Rue de Richelieu, then walked slowly up it, searching with a glance 
the Batignolles omnibuses, which kept passing full, so that Pichon 
often went thus as far as Montmartre; for he would never have 
thought of leaving his father and mother-in-law before seeing them 
into an omnibus. As they could not walk fast, it took him close upon 
two hours to go there and back. 

They exchanged some friendly handshakes on the landing. 
Octave, on returning to the room with Marie, said quietly: 

“ It rains; Jules will not get back before midnight.” 

And, as Lilitte had been put to bed early, he at once took Marie 
on his knees, and drank the rest of the coffee with her out of the 
same cup, like a husband glad at having got rid of his guests and 
at finding himself again in the quiet of his home, excited by a little 
family gathering, and able to kiss his wife at his ease, with the 
doors closed. A pleasant warmth filled the narrow room, where 
some frosted eggs had left an odor of vanilla. He was gently kiss- 


84 


POT-BOUILLE 


ing the young woman under the chin, when some one knocked. 
Marie did not even give a start of affright. It was young Josser- 
and, he who was a bit cracked. Whenever he could escape from 
the apartment opposite, he would come in this way to chat with 
her, attracted by their gentleness; and they both get on well 
together, remaining ten minutes at a time without speaking, 
exchanging at distant intervals phrases which had no connection 
with each other. 

Octave, very much put out, remained silent. 

11 They’ve some people there,” stuttered Saturnin. “ I don’t care 
a hang for their not letting me dine with them ! So I took the lock 
off and bolted. It serves them right. ” 

“ They will he anxious : you ought to go hack, ” said Marie, who 
noticed Octave’s impatience. 

But the idiot laughed with delight. Then, with his embarrassed 
speech, he related what took place in his home. He seemed to 
come each time for the sake of thus relieving his memory. 

“ Papa worked all night again. Mamma slapped Berthe. I say, 
when people get married, does it hurt ? ” 

And, as Marie did not reply, becoming excited, he continued: 

“ I won’t go to the country ; I won’t. If they only touch her, I’ll 
strangle them; it’s easy to do in the night, when they’re asleep. 
The palm of her hand is as soft as note-paper. But, you know, the 
other is a beast of a girl-” 

He recommenced, got more muddled still, and did not succeed in 
expressing what he had come to say. Marie, at length, made him 
return to his parents, without his even having noticed Octave’s 
presence. 

Then the latter, through fear of being again disturbed, wanted to 
take the young woman into his own room. But she refused, her 
cheeks suddenly becoming scarlet. He, not understanding this 
bashfulness, said that they would be sure to hear Jules coming up, 
and that she would have time to slip into her room; and, as he drew 
her along, she became quite angry, with the indignation of a woman 
to whom violence is being offered. 

“ No, not in your room, never ! It would be too wrong. Let us 
remain here.” 

And she ran to the farthest end of her room. Octave was still on 
the lauding, surprised at this unexpected resistance, when the 
sounds of a violent altercation ascended from the courtyard. 
Really, everything seemed to be against him, he would have "done 
better to have gone off to bed. Such an uproar was not so unu¬ 
sual at that late hour, that he ended by opening a window, to hear 
what was going on. Monsieur Gourd, down below, was shouting out: 

“ I tell you, you shall not pass ! The landlord has been sent for. 
He will come out and turn you out himself. ” 

“ What! turn me out! ” replied a thick voice. “ Don’t I pay my 
rent ? Pass, Amalie, and if the gentleman touches you, we’ll have 
something to laugh at ! 11 


POT-BOUILLE 


85 


It was the workman from up-stairs, who had returned with the 
woman sent away in the morning. Octave leant out; but, in the 
black hole of the courtyard, he could only distinguish some big 
moving shadows in a ray of gaslight from the vestibule. 

“Monsieur Vabre! Monsieur Vabre! ” called the doorkeeper in 
urgent tones, as the carpenter shoved him aside. “ Quick, quick, 
she is coming in ! ” 

In spite of her poor legs, Madame Gourd had gone to fetch the 
landlord, who was just then at work on his great task. He was 
coming down. Octave could hear him furiously repeating : 

“It is scandalous! it is disgraceful! I will never allow such a 
thing in my house ! 77 

And addressing the workman, whom his presence seemed at first 
to intimidate: 

“ Send that woman away at once, at once. You hear me! we 
will have no woman brought to the house.” 

“ But she’s my wife! replied the workman in a scared way. 
“ She is out at service, she comes home once a month, when her 
people allow her to. What a fuss ! It isn’t you who’ll prevent me 
sleeping with my wife, I suppose ? ” 

At these words, the doorkeeper and the landlord quite lost their 
heads. 

“ I give you notice to quit,” stuttered Monsieur Yabre. “ And in 
the meantime, I forbid you to take my premises for what they are 
not. Gourd, turn that creature out onto the pavement. Yes, sir, 
I don’t like bad jokes. When a person is married, he should say so. 
Hold your tongue, do not give me any more of your rudeness! ” 

The carpenter, who was a jolly fellow, and who had no doubt had 
a drop too much wine, ended by bursting out laughing. 

“ It’s damned funny all the same. However, as the gentleman ob¬ 
jects, you’d better return home, Amelie. We’ll wait till some other 
time. * By Jove! I accept your notice with pleasure! I wouldn’t 
stop in such a hole on any account! There are some pretty goings- 
on in it, one comes across some rare filth. You won’t have women 
brought here, but you tolerate, on every floor, well dressed strum¬ 
pets who lead fine lives behind the doors! You set of muffs! you 
swells! ” 

Amelie had gone off so as not to cause her old man any more 
annoyance; and he, jolly, and without anger, continued his chaff. 
During this time, Monsieur Gourd protected Monsieur Yabre’s 
retreat, permitting himself to make a few remarks out loud. What 
a dirty set the lower classes were ! One workman in a house was 
sufficient to pollute it. 

Octave closed the window. But, just as he was returning to 
Marie, an individual who was lightly gliding along the passage, 
knocked up against him. 

“ What! it’s you again! ” said he, recognizing Trublot. 

The latter remained a second taken aback. Then he wished to 
explain his presence. 


86 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Yes, it is I. I dined at the Josserands’, and I’m going-” 

Octave felt disgusted. 

“ What, with that slut Ad61e ? You declared it was not so. ” 

Then Trublot assumed all his swagger, saying with an air of 
intense satisfaction: 

“ I assure you, my dear fellow, it’s awfully fine. She has such a 
skin, you’ve no idea what a skin! ” 

Then he railed against the workman, who had almost been the 
cause of his being caught on the servants’ staircase, and all his dirty 
fuss about women. He had been obliged to come round by the 
grand staircase. And, as he made off, he added: 

“ Remember, it is next Thursday that I am going take you to see 
Duveyrier’s mistress. We will dine together.” 

The house resumed its peacefulness, lapsing into that religious 
silence which seemed to issue from its chaste alcoves. Octave had 
rejoined Marie in the inner chamber at the side of the conjugal 
couch, where she was arranging the pillows. Upstairs, the chair 
being littered with the washhand basin and an old pair of shoes, 
Trublot sat down on Adele’s narrow bed, and wrnited in his dress 
clothes and his white tie. When he recognized Julie’s step as she 
came up to bed, he held his breath, having a constant dread of 
woman’s quarrels. At length Adele appeared. She was in a tem¬ 
per, and went for him at once. 

“Isay, you! you might treat me a bit better when I wait at 
table! ” 

“ How treat you better? ” 

“ Why of course, you don’t even look at me, you never say if you 
please, when you ask for bread. For instance, this evening when I 
handed round the veal, you had a way of disowning me. I’ve had 
enough of it, look you! All the house badgers me with its non¬ 
sense. It’s too much, if you’re going to join the others! ” 

Whilst this was taking place, the workman in the next room, not 
yet sobered, talked to himself in so loud a voice that every one on 
that landing could hear him. 

“ Well! it’s funny all the same, that a fellow can’t sleep with his 
wife! No woman allowed in the house, you fussy old idiot! Just 
go now and poke your nose into all the rooms, and see what you’ll 
see! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 

For a fortnight past, with the view of getting uncle Bachelard 
to give Berthe a dowry, the Josserands had been inviting him to 
dinner almost every evening, in spite of his offensive habits. 

When the marriage was announced to him, he had contented him¬ 
self with giving his niece a gentle pat on the cheek, saying: 



POT-BOUILLE 


87 


II What! you are going to get married! Ah ! that’s very nice, 

little girl! ” ’ 

And he remained deaf to all allusions, exaggerating his air of a 
silly old boozer who got drunk on liquors, the moment money was 
mentioned before him. 

Madame Josserand had the idea to invite him one evening together 
with Auguste, the bridegroom elect. Perhaps the sight of the young 
man would decide him. The step was heroical, for the family did 
not like exhibiting the uncle, always fearing that he would give 
people a bad impression of them. He had, however, behaved pretty 
well; his waistcoat alone had a big syrup stain, which it had 
obtained no doubt in some cafe. But when his sister questioned 
him, after Auguste had taken his departure, and asked him what 
he thought of the young fellow, he answered without involving 
himself: 

“ Charming, charming.” 

This would never do. It was a pressing matter. Therefore, 
Madame Josserand determined to plainly place the position of 
affairs before him. 

“ As we are by ourselves,” resumed she, “ we may as well take 
advantage of it. Leave us, my darlings; we want to have some 
talk with your uncle. You, Berthe, just look after Saturnin, and 
see that he does not take the lock off the door again. ” 

Saturnin, ever since they had been busy about his sister’s mar¬ 
riage, hiding everything from him, had taken to wandering about the 
rooms, an anxious look in his eyes, and scenting that there was 
something up ; and he imagined most diabolical things which gave 
the family awful frights. 

II I have obtained every information,” said the mother, when she 
had shut herself in with the father and the uncle. “ This is the 
position of the Vabres.” 

And she went into long details of figures. Old Yabre had brought 
half a million with him from Versailles. If the house had cost him 
three hundred thousand francs, he had two hundred thousand left, 
which, during the twelve years that had past had been producing 
interest. Moreover, he received each year twenty-two thousand 
francs in rent; and, as he lived with the Duveyriers, scarcely spend¬ 
ing anything at all, he must consequently be altogether worth five 
or six hundred thousand francs, besides the house. Thus, there 
were some very handsome expectations on that side. 

“ Has he no vices, then? ” asked uncle Bachelard. “ I thought 
he speculated at the Bourse.” 

But Madame Josserand cried out. Such a quiet old gentleman, 
and occupied on a such a great task! That one, at least, had 
shown himself capable of putting a fortune by; and she smiled bit¬ 
terly as she looked at her husband, who bowed his head. 

As for Monsieur Vabre’s three children, Auguste, Clotilde and 
Theophile, they had each had a hundred thousand francs on then- 
mother’s death. Theophile, after some ruinous enterprises, was 


88 


POT-BOUILLE 


living as best be could on the crumbs of this inheritance. Clotilde, 
with ho other passion than her piano, had probably invested her 
share. And Auguste had purchased the business on the ground 
floor and gone in for the silk trade with his hundred thousand francs, 
which he had long kept in reserve. 

“And the old fellow naturally gives nothing to his children when 
they marry,” observed the uncle. 

Well! he did not much like giving, that was a fact which was 
unfortunately indisputable. 

“ Well! ” declared Bachelard, “ it is always hard on the parents. 
Dowries are never really paid. ” 

“ Let us return to Auguste, ” continued Madame Josserand. “I 
have told you his expectations, and the only danger comes from the 
Duveyriers, whom Berthe will do well to watch very closely, if she 
enters the family. At the present moment, Auguste, after purchas¬ 
ing the business for sixty thousand francs, has started with the other 
forty thousand. Only, the sum is not sufficient; besides which, he 
is single, and requires a wife; that is why he wishes to marry. 
Berthe is pretty, he already sees her in his counting-house; and as 
for the dowry, fifty thousand francs are a respectable sum which has 
decided him.” 

Uncle Bachelard did not so much as blink his eyes. He ended by 
saying, in a tender-hearted way, that he had dreamed of something 
better. And he commenced to pick the future husband to pieces': 
a charming fellow, certainly; but too old, a great deal too old, 
thirty-three years and over; besides which, always ill, his face dis¬ 
torted by neuralgia; in short, a sorry object, not near lively enough 
for trade. 

“ Have you another? ” asked Madame Josserand, whose patience 
was wearing out. “ I searched all Paris before finding him.” 

However, she did not deceive herself much. She too picked him 
to pieces. 

“ Oh! he is not a phoenix, in fact I think him a bit of a fool. 
Besides which, I mistrust those men who have never had any youth 
and who do not risk a stride in life without thinking about it for 
years beforehand. On leaving college, where his headaches pre¬ 
vented him completing his studies, he remained for fifteen years a 
mere clerk before daring to touch his hundred thousand francs, the 
interest of which, it seems, his father was cheating him out of all 
the time. No, no, he is not up to much.” 

Monsieur Josserand, who until then had kept silent, ventured an 
observation. 

“ But, my dear, why insist so obstinately on this marriage? If 
the young man’s health is so bad-” 

“Oh! it is not bad health that need prevent it,” interrupted 
Bachelard. “ Berthe would find no difficulty in marrying again.” 

“However, if he is incapable,” resumed the father, “ if he is 
likely to make our daughter unhappy-” 

“ Unhappy! ” cried Madame Josserand. “ Say at once that I 


POT-BOUILLE 


89 


throw my child at the head of the first-comer! We are among our¬ 
selves, we discuss him: he is this, he is that, not young, not hand¬ 
some, not intelligent. We just talk the matter over, do we not? it 
is but natural. Only, he is very well, we shall never find a better; 
and, shall I tell you ? it is a most unexpected match for Berthe. I 
was about to give up all hope, on my word of honor! 77 

She rose to her feet. Monsieur Josserand, reduced to silence, 
pushed back his chair. 

“ I have only one fear,’ 7 continued she, making a resolute stand 
before her brother, “ and that is that he may break it off if he is 
not paid the dowry on the day the contract is to be signed. It is 
easy to understand, he is in want of money- 77 

But at this moment a hot breathing, which she heard behind her, 
caused her to turn round. Saturnin was there, passing his head 
round the partly opened door, his eyes glaring like a wolf’s as he 
listened to what was being said. And it created quite a panic, for 
he had stolen a spit from the kitchen, to spit the geese, said he. 
Uncle Bachelard, feeling very uneasy at the turn the conversation 
was taking, availed himself of the general alarm. 

“ Don’t disturb yourselves, 77 cried he, from the ante-room. “ I’m 
off*, I’ve an appointment at midnight, with one of my customers, 
who’s come specially from Brazil. 77 

When they had succeeded in getting Saturnin to bed, Madame 
Josserand, exasperated, declared that it was impossible to keep him 
any longer. He would end by doing some one an injury, if he was 
not shut up in a madhouse. Life was unbearable with him always 
to be kept in hiding. His sisters would never get married, so long 
as he was there to disgust and frighten people. 

“ Wait a bit longer, 77 murmured Monsieur Josserand, whose heart 
bled at the thought of this separation. 

“ No, no! 77 declared the mother, “ I do not want him to spit me 
in the end! I had brought my brother to the point, I was about to 
get him to do something. Never mind! we will go with Berthe 
to-morrow to his own place, and we will see if he will have the 
cheek to escape from his promises. Besides, Berthe owes her god¬ 
father a visit. It is only proper. 77 

On the morrow, all three, the mother, the father, and the 
daughter, paid an official visit to the uncle’s warehouses, which 
occupied the basement and the ground floor of an enormous house 
in the Rue d’Enghien. 

“ Hallo! you here! 77 said he, greatly annoyed. 

And he received them in a little closet, from which he watched 
his men through a window. , _ , T 

“ I have brought Berthe to see you, 77 explained Madame Josser¬ 
and. “ She knows what she owes you.” 

Then, when the young girl, after kissing her uncle, had, on a 
glance from her mother, returned to look at the goods m the court¬ 
yard, the latter resolutely broached the subject. 

“ Listen, Narcisse; this is how we are situated. Counting on your 


90 


POT-BOUILLE 


kindness of heart and on your promises, I have engaged to give a 
dowry of fifty thousand francs., If I do not give it, the marriage 
will be broken off. It would be a disgrace, things having gone as 
far as they have. You cannot leave us in such an embarrassing 
position. ” 

But a vacant look had come into Bachelard’s eyes, and he stut¬ 
tered, as though very drunk: 

“ Eh? what? you’ve promised. You should never promise; it’s a 
bad thing to promise.” 

He pleaded poverty. For instance, he had bought a whole stock 
of horsehair, thinking that the price of horsehair would go up; but 
not at all; the price had fallen lower still, and he had been obliged 
to dispatch them at a loss. And he pounced on his books, opened 
his ledgers, and insisted on showing the invoices, it was ruina¬ 
tion. 

“Nonsense! ” Monsieur Josserand ended by saying, completely 
out of patience. “ I know your business; you make no end of 
money, and you would be rolling in wealth if you did not squander 
it in the way you do. I ask you for nothing myself. It was Eleo- 
nore who persisted in applying to you. But allow me to tell you, 
Bachelard, that you have been fooling us. Every Saturday for fif¬ 
teen years past, when I come to look over your books for you, you 
are forever promising me-” 

The uncle interrupted him, and violently slapped himself on the 
chest. 

“I promise? impossible! No, no; let me alone, you’ll see. I 
don’t like being asked, it annoys me — it makes me ill. You’ll see 
one day.” 

Madame Josserand herself could get nothing further out of him. 
He shook their hands, wiped away a tear, talked of his soul and of 
his love for the family, imploring them not to worry him any more, 
and swearing before heaven that they would never repent it. He 
knew his duty; he would perform it to the uttermost. Later on, 
Berthe would know how her uncle loved her. 

“ And what about the dotal insurance,” asked he, in his natural 
tone of voice, “ the fifty thousand francs you had insured the little 
one for? ” 

Madame Josserand shrugged her shoulders. 

“ It has been dead and buried for fourteen years past. You have 
been told twenty times already that when the fourth premium fell 
due, we were unable to pay the two thousand francs. ” 

“ That doesn’t matter,” murmured he, with a wink, “ the thing is 
to talk of this insurance to the family, and then get time for paying 
the dowry. One never pays a dowry. ” 

Monsieur Josserand rose indignantly. 

“ What! that is all you can find to say ? ” 

But the uncle mistook his meaning, and went on to show that it 
was quite a usual thing. 

“ Never, I tell you! One gives something on account, and then 


POT-BOUILLE 


91 


merely pays the interest. Look at Monsieur Vahre himself. Did 
our father ever pay you Eleonore’s dowry ? why, no, of course not. 
Every one sticks to his money; its only natural! ” 

“ In short, you advise me to commit a most abominable action! ” 
cried Monsieur Josserand. “ I should lie; it would he a forgery to 
produce the policy of that insurance-” 

Madame Josserand stopped him. The idea suggested by her 
brother had rendered her grave. She was surprised she had not 
thought of it herself. 

“ Dear me! how excited you become, my dear. Narcisse has not 
told you to forge anything. ” 

“ Of course not, ” murmured the uncle. “ There is no occasion to 
show any documents. ” 

“It is simply a question of gaining time,” continued she. 
“ Promise the dowry, we shall always manage to give it later 
on.” 

Then the worthy man’s conscience spoke out. No! he refused; 
he would not again venture on such a precipice. They were always 
taking advantage of his complacency, to get him to agree little by 
little to things which afterward made him ill, so deeply did they 
wound his feelings. As he had no dowry to give, he could not 
promise one. 

Bachelard was strumming on the little window with his fingers, 
and whistling a march, as though to show his great contempt for 
such scruples. Madame Josserand had listened to her husband, 
her face all pale with an anger which had been slowly rousing, and 
which suddenly exploded. 

“ Well! sir, as this is how you look at it, this marriage shall take 
place. It was my daughter’s last chance. I will cut my hand off 
sooner than she will lose it. So much the worse for the others! One 
becomes capable of anything at last. ” 

“ So, madame, you would commit murder to get your daughter 
married? ” 

She rose to her full height. 

“ Yes! ” said she furiously. 

Then she smiled. The uncle had to quell the storm. What was 
the use of wrangling ? It was far better to agree together. And, 
still trembling from the quarrel, bewildered and worn out, Monsieur 
Josserand ended by promising to talk the matter over with Duvey- 
rier, on whom everything depended, according to Madame Josser¬ 
and. Only to get hold of the counselor when he was in good 
humor, the uncle offered to put his brother-in-law in the way of 
meeting him at a house where he could refuse nothing. 

“ It is merely to be an interview,” declared Monsieur Josserand, 
still struggling. “ I swear that I will not enter into any engage¬ 
ments. ” 

“Of course, of course,” said Bachelard. “ Eleonore does not 
wish you to do anything dishonorable.” 

Berthe just then returned. She had seen some boxes of preserved 


92 


POT-BOTJILLE 


fruits, and, after some lively caresses, she tried to get one given her. 
But the uncle’s speech again became thick; impossible, they were 
counted, and had to leave that very evening for Saint-Petersburg. 
He slowly got them in the direction of the street, whilst his sister 
lingered before the activity of the vast warehouses, full to the 
rafters with every imaginable commodity, suffering from the sight of 
that fortune made by a man without any principles, and bitterly 
comparing it with her husband’s incapable honesty. 

“ Well! to-morrow night, then, toward nine o’clock, at the Cafe 
de Mulhouse, ” said Bachelard outside, as he shook Monsieur Jos- 
serand’s hand. 

It so happened that, on the morrow, Octave and Trublot, who 
had dined together before going to see Clarisse, Duveyrier’s 
mistress, entered the Cafe de Mulhouse, so as not to call too early, 
although she lived in the Bue de la Cerisaie, which was some 
distance off. It was scarcely eight o’clock. As they entered, the 
sound of a violent quarrel attracted them to a rather out-of-the- 
way room at the end. And there they beheld Bachelard already 
drunk, enormous in size, and his cheeks flaring red, having an alter¬ 
cation with a little gentleman, pale and quarrelsome. 

“ You have again spat in my beer! ” roared he in his voice of 
thunder. “ I’ll not stand it, sir! ” 

“ Go to blazes, do you hear? or I’ll give you a thrashing! ” said 
the little man, standing on the tips of his toes. 

Then Bachelard raised his voice very provokingly, without draw¬ 
ing back an inch. 

“ If you think proper, sir! As you please! ” 

And the other having with a blow knocked in his hat, which he 
always wore swaggeringly on the side of his head, even in the cafes, 
he repeated more energetically still: 

“ As you please, sir! If you think proper! ” 

Then, after picking up his hat, he sat himself down with a superb 
air, and called to the waiter: 

“ Alfred, change my beer! ” 

Octave and Trublot, greatly astonished, had caught sight of 
Gueulin seated at the uncle’s table, his back against the wall, smok¬ 
ing with a tranquillity amounting to indifference. As they questioned 
him on the cause of the quarrel, 

“ I don’t know,” replied he, watching the smoke ascend from his 
cigar. “Always a lot of rot! Oh! a mania for getting his head 
punched! He never retreats. ” 

Bachelard shook hands with the new-comers. He adored young 
people. When he heard that that they were going to call on Clarisse, 
he was delighted, for he himself was going there with Gueulin; only 
he had to wait for his brother-in-law, Josserand, whom he had an 
appointment with. And he filled the little room with the sounds 
of his , voice, covering the table with every drink imaginable 
for the benefit of his young friends, with the insane prodigality of a 
man who does not care what he spends when out on pleasure. Ill- 


POT-BOUILLE 


93 


formed, with his teeth too new and his nose in a blaze beneath his 
short, snow-white hair, he talked familiarly to the waiters and thor¬ 
oughly tired them out, and made himself unbearable to his neigh¬ 
bors to such a point that the landlord came twice to beg him to 
leave, if he could not keep quiet. The night before, he had been 
turned out of the Cafe de Madrid. 

But a girl having put in an appearance, and then gone away, after 
walking round the room with a wearied air, Octave began to talk of 
women. This set Bachelard off again. Women had cost him too 
much money; he flattered himself that he had had the best in Paris. 
In his business, one never bargained about such things; just to 
show that one had something to fall back upon. Now he was giv¬ 
ing all that up, he wished to be loved. And, in presence of this 
bawler chucking bank notes about, Octave thought with surprise of 
the uncle who exaggerated his stuttering drunkenness to escape the 
family extortions. 

“Don’t boast, uncle,” said Gueulin. “One can always have 
more women than one wants.” 

“ Then, you silly fool, why do you never have any ? ” asked 
Bachelard. 

Gueulin contemptuously shrugged his shoulders. 

“Why? Listen! Only yesterday I dined with a friend and his 
mistress. The mistress at once began to kick me under the table. 
It was an opportunity, wasn’t it ? Well! when she asked me to see 
her home, I made off, and I haven’t been near her since. Oh! I 
don’t deny that, for the time being, it might have been very agree¬ 
able. But afterward, afterward, uncle! Perhaps one of those 
women a fellow can never get rid of. I’m not such a fool! ” 

Trublot nodded his head approvingly, for he also had renounced 
women of society, through a dread of the troublesome morrows. 
And Gueulin, coming out of his shell, continued to give examples. 
One day in the train, a superb brunette, whom he did not know, 
had fallen asleep on his shoulder; but he had thought twice, what 
would he have done with her on arriving at the station ? Another 
day, after a wedding, he had found a neighbor’s wife in his room, 
eh? that was rather cool; and he would have made a fool of himself 
had it not been for the idea that afterward she would have wanted 
him to keep her in boots. 

“ Opportunities, uncle ! ” said he, coming to an end, no one has 
such opportunities as I ! But I keep myself in check. Every one, 
moreover, does the same; one is afraid of what may follow. Were 
it not for that, it would, of course, be very pieasant! Good morn¬ 
ing ! good evening ! one would see nothing else in the streets. 

Bachelard, becoming wrapped in thought, was no longer listening 
to him. His bluster had calmed down, his eyes were wet. 

“ If you are very good,” said he suddenly, “ I will show you some- 

till 1T1Q* ^ 

And after paying, he led them out. Octave reminded him of old 
Josserand. That did not matter, they would come hack lor him. 


94 


POT-BOUILLE 


Then, after leaving the room, ^he uncle, casting a furious glance 
around, stole the sugar left by a customer on a neighboring table. 

u Follow me,” said he, when he was outside. “ It’s close by . 77 

He walked along, grave and thoughtful, without uttering a word. 
He drew up before a door in the Rue Saint-Marc. The three young 
men were about to follow him, when he appeared to give way to a 
sudden hesitation. 

“ No, let us go off, I won’t . 77 

Rut they cried out at this. Was he trying to make fools of 
them ? 

“ Well! Gueulin mustn’t come up, nor you either, Monsieur 
Trublot. You’re not nice enough, you respect nothing, you’d joke. 
Come, Monsieur Octave, you’re a serious sort of fellow . 77 

He made Octave walk up before him, whilst the other two 
laughed, and called to him from the pavement to give their compli¬ 
ments to the ladies. On reaching the fourth floor, he knocked, and 
an old woman opened the door. 

“ What! it’s you, Monsieur Narcisse ? Fifi did not expect you 
this evening , 77 said she, with a smile. 

She was fat, with the calm, white face of a nun. In the narrow 
dining-room into which she ushered them, a tall, fair young girl, 
pretty and simple looking, was embroidering an altar cloth. 

“ Good day, uncle , 77 said she, rising to offer her forehead to Bache- 
lard’s thick, trembling lips. 

When the latter had introduced Monsieur Octave Mouret, a dis¬ 
tinguished young man whom he counted amongst his friends, the two 
women curtesied in an old-fashioned way, and then they all seated 
themselves round the table, lighted by a petroleum lamp. It was 
like a quiet country home, two regulated existences, out of sight of 
all, and living upon next to nothing. As the room overlooked an 
inner courtyard, one could not even hear the sound of the passing 
vehicles. 

Whilst Bachelard paternally questioned the child on her feelings 
and her occupations since the night before, the aunt, Mademoiselle 
Menu, at once began to tell Octave their history, with the familiarity 
of a worthy woman who thinks she has nothing to hide. 

“ Yes, sir, I came from Villeneuve, near Lille. I am well known 
to Messieurs Mardienne Freres, in the Rue Saint-Sulpice, where I 
worked as an embroiderer for thirty years. Then, a cousin having 
left me a house in our part of the country, I was lucky enough to let 
it as a life interest at a thousand francs a year, sir, to people who 
thought they would bury me on the morrow, and who are nicely 
punished for their wicked idea, for I am still alive, in spite of my 
seventy-five years . 77 

She laughed, displaying teeth as white as a young girl’s. 

“ I was doing nothing, my eyes being quite worn out , 77 continued 
she, “ when my niece, Fanny, came to me. Her father, Captain 
Menu, had died without leaving a sou, and no other relation, sir. 
So, I at once took the child away from her school, and made an 


POT-BOUILLE 


95 


embroiderer out of her — a very unprofitable craft; but what could 
be done ? whether that, or something else, women always have to 
starve. Fortunately, she met Monsieur Narcisse. Now, I can die 
happy. ” 

And, her hands clasped on her stomach, in her inaction of an old 
workwoman who has sworn never again to touch a needle, she 
looked tenderly at Bachelard and Fifi with tearful eyes. The old 
man was just then saying to the child: 

“ Really, you thought of me ! And what did you think ? ” 

Fifi raised her limpid eyes, without ceasing to draw her golden 
thread. 

“ Why, that you were a good friend, and that I loved you very 
much.” 

She had scarcely looked at Octave, as though indifferent to the 
youth of so handsome a fellow. Yet he smiled on her, surprised, 
and moved by her gracefulness, not knowing what to think; whilst 
the aunt, who had grown old in a celibacy and a chastity which had 
cost her nothing, continued, lowering her voice : 

“ I might have married her, might I not ? A workman would 
have beaten her, a clerk would have given her no end of children. 
It is better far that she should behave well with Monsieur Narcisse, 
who looks a very worthy man.” 

And, raising her voice: 

“ Ah! Monsieur Narcisse, it will not have been my fault if she 
does not please you. I am always telling her: do all you can to 
please him, show yourself grateful. It is but natural, I am so thank¬ 
ful to know that she is at last provided for. It is so difficult to get 
a young girl settled in life, when one has no friends ! ” 

Then Octave abandoned himself to the happy simplicity of this 
home. In the still atmosphere of the room floated an odor of fruit. 
Fifi’s needle, as it pierced the silk, alone made a slight monotonous 
noise, like the ticking of a little clock, which might have regulated 
the placidity of the uncle’s amours. Moreover, the old maid was 
honesty itself; she lived on the thousand francs of her income, never 
touching Fifi’s money, which the latter spent as she chose. Her 
scruples yielded only to white wine and chestnuts, which her niece 
occasionally treated her to, after opening the money box in which 
she collected four sou pieces, given as medals by her good friend. 

“My little duck,” at length said Bachelard, rising, “we have 
business to attend to. Good-bye till to-morrow. Now, mind you 
are very good. ” ' 

He kissed her on the forehead. Then, after looking at her with 
emotion, he said to Octave : 

“ You may kiss her too, she is a mere child. ” 

The young man pressed his lips to her fair skin. She smiled, she 
was very modest; however, it was merely like a family gathering, 
he had never seen such sober-minded people. The uncle was going 
off, when he re-entered the room, exclaiming: 

“ I was forgetting, I’ve a little present. ” 


96 


POT-BOtflLLE 


And, turning out his pocket, ho gave Fifi the sugar which he had 
just stolen at the caffi. She thanked him very heartily, and, as she 
crunched up a piece, she became quite red with pleasure. Then, 
becoming bolder, she asked: 

u Do you not happen to have some four sou pieces? ” 

Bachelard searched his pockets without result. Octave had one, 
which the young girl accepted as a memorial. She did not accom¬ 
pany them to the door, no doubt out of propriety; and they heard 
her drawing her needle, having. at once resumed her altar cloth, 
whilst Mademoiselle Menu saw them to the landing, with her good 
old woman’s amiability. 

“ Eh? it’s worth seeing,” said uncle Bachelard, stopping on the 
stairs. “ You know, it doesn’t cost me five louis a month. I’ve had 
enough of the hussies who almost devoured me. On my word! 
what I required was a heart. ” 

But, as Octave laughed, he became mistrustful. 

“ You’re a decent fellow; you won’t take advantage of what I have 
shown you. Not a word to Gueulin, you swear it on your honor? I 
am waiting till he is worthy of her to show her to him. An angel, 
my dear fellow ! No matter what is said, virtue is good: it refreshes 
one. I have always gone in for the ideal.” 

His old drunkard’s voice trembled; tears swelled his heavy eye¬ 
lids. Down below, Trublot chaffed, pretending to take the number 
of the house, whilst Gueulin shrugged his shoulders, asking Octave, 
who was astounded, what he thought of the little thing. Whenever 
the uncle’s feelings had been softened by a booze, he could not resist 
taking people to see these ladies, divided between the vanity of 
showing his treasure and the fear of having it stolen from him; then, 
on the morrow, he forgot all about it, and returned to the Rue-Saint- 
Marc with an air of mystery. 

“ Everyone knows Fifi,” said Gueulin, quietly. 

Meanwhile, Bachelard was looking out for a cab, when Octave 
exclaimed: 

“ And Monsieur Josserand, who is waiting at the cafe? ” 

The others had forgotten him entirely. Monsieur Josserand, very 
annoyed at wasting his evening, was impatiently waiting at the 
entrance, for he never took anything out of doors. At length they 
started for the Rue de la Cerisaie. But they had to take two cabs; 
the commission agent and the cashier in the one, and the three young 
men in the other. 

Gueulin, his voice drowned by the jingling noise of the old vehicle, 
at first talked of the insurance company where he was employed. 
Insurance companies and stockbrokers were equally unpleasant, 
affirmed Trublot. Then the conversation turned to Duveyrier. Was 
it not unfortunate that a rich man, a magistrate, should let himself 
be fooled by women in that way ? He always wanted them in out- 
of-the-way neighborhoods, right at the end of the omnibus routes; 
modest little ladies in their own apartments, playing the parts of 
widows; unknown milliners, having shops and no customers; girls 


POT-BOUILLE 


9? 


picked out of the gutter, clothed and shut up, as though in a con¬ 
vent, whom he would go to see regularly once a week, like a clerk 
trudging to his office. 

Trublot, however, found excuses for him: to begin with, it was 
the fault of his constitution; then, it was impossible to put up with 
a confounded wife like his. On the very first night, so it was said, 
she could not bear him, affecting to be disgusted at his red blotches, 
so that she willingly allowed him to have mistresses, whose compla¬ 
cencies relieved her of him, though at times she accepted the abom¬ 
inable burden, with the resignation of a virtuous woman who makes 
a point of accomplishing all her duties. 

“ Then, she is virtuous, is she? ” asked Octave, interested. 

“ Virtuous ¥ Oh! yes, my dear fellow! Every good quality; 
pretty, serious, well brought up, learned, full of taste, chaste, and 
unbearable! ” 

A block of vehicles at the bottom of the Rue Montmartre stopped 
the cab. The young men, who had let down the windows, could 
hear Bachelard’s voice, furiously abusing the coachman. Then, 
when the cab moved on again, Gueulingave some information about 
Clarisse. Her name was Clarisse Bocquet, and she was the daughter 
of a former toy merchant in a small way, who now attended all the 
fairs with his wife and quite a troop of dirty children. Duveyrier 
had come across her one night when it was thawing, just as her lover 
had chucked her out. No doubt, this strapping wench answered to 
an ideal long sought after; for as early as the morrow he was hooked; 
he wept as he kissed her eyelids, all shaken by his need to cultivate 
the little blue flower of romance in his huge masculine appetites. 
Clarisse had consented to live in the Rue de la Cerisaie, so as not to 
expose him; but she led him a fine dance — had made him buy her 
twenty-five thousand francs’ worth of furniture, and was devouring 
him heartily, in company with some actors of the Montmartre Theater. 

“ I don’t care a hang ! ” said Trublot, “ so long as one amuses 
oneself at her place. Anyhow, she doesn’t make you sing, and she 
isn’t forever strumming away on a piano like the other. Oh! that 
piano ! Listen, when one is deafened at home, when one has had 
the misfortune to marry a mechanical piano which frightens every¬ 
body away, one would be precious stupid not to arrange a pleasant 
little nest elsewhere, where one could receive one’s friends in their 
slippers. ” 

“ Last Sunday,” related Gueulin, “ Clarisse wanted me to lunch 
alone with her." I declined. After those sort of lunches, one always 
does something foolish; and I was afraid of seeing her take up her 
quarters with me the day she left Duveyrier for good. You know, 
she detests him. Oh ! her disgust almost makes her ill. Well, the 
girl doesn’t care much for pimples either. But she hasn’t the 
resource of sending him elsewhere like his wife has; otherwise, if 
she could pass him over to her maid, I assure you she’d get rid of 
the job precious quick.” 

Pot-Bouille 7 


98 


POT-BOUILLE 


The cab stopped. They alighted before a dark and silent house in 
the Rue de la Cerisaie. But they had to wait for the other cab fully 
ten minutes, Bachelard having taken his driver with him to drink a 
grog after the quarrel in the Rue Montmartre. On the staircase, as 
severe-looking as those of the middle classes, Monsieur Josserand 
again asked some questions respecting Duveyrier’s lady friend, but 
the uncle merely answered: 

“ A woman of the world, a very decent girl. She won’t eat 
you.” 

It was a little maid, with a rosy complexion, who opened the door 
to them. She took the gentlemen’s coats with familiar and and ten¬ 
der smiles. For a moment, Trublot kept her in a corner of the 
ante-room, whispering things in her ear which almost made her 
choke, as though being tickled. But Bachelard had pushed open 
the drawing-room door, and he at once introduced Monsieur Jos¬ 
serand. The latter stood for a moment embarrassed, finding Clarisse 
ugly, and not understanding how the counselor could prefer this 
sort of creature — black and skinny, and with a head of hair like a 
poodle—to his wife, one of the most beautiful women of society. 
Clarisse, however, was charming. She had preserved the Parisian 
cackle, a superficial and borrowed wit, an itch of drollery caught by 
rubbing up against men, but was able to put on a grand lady sort 
of air when she chose. 

“ Sir, I am charmed. All Alphonse’s friends are mine. Now you 
are one of us, the house is yours. ” 

Duveyrier, warned by a note from Bachelard, also greeted Mon¬ 
sieur Josserand very amiably. Octave was surprised at the counsel¬ 
or’s youthful appearance. He was no longer the severe and ill-at- 
ease individual, who never seemed to be in his own home in the 
drawing-room of the Rue de Choiseul. The deep red blotches on 
his face were turning to a rosy hue, his oblique eyes shone with a 
childish delight, whilst Clarisse related in the midst of a group how 
he sometimes hastened to come and see her during a short adjourn¬ 
ment of the court—just time to jump into a cab, to kiss her, and 
start back again. Then he complained of being overworked. Four 
sittings a week, from eleven to five; always the same skein of bick¬ 
erings to unravel, it ended by destroying all feeling in one’s heart. 

“ It is true,” said he, laughing, “ one requires a few roses amongst 
all that. 1 feel better afterward. ” 

However, he did not wear his bit of red ribbon, but always took 
it off when visiting his mistress; a last scruple, a delicate distinc¬ 
tion, which his sense of decency obstinately persisted in. Clarisse, 
without wishing to say so, felt very much hurt at it. 

Octave, who had at once shook hands with the young woman like 
a comrade, listened and looked about him. Clarisse never received 
other women, out of decency, she said. When her acquaintances 
complained that her drawing-room was in want of a few ladies, she 
would answer with a laugh : 

“ Well! and I — am I not enough ? ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


99 


She had arranged a decent home for Alphonse, very middle-class 
in the main, having a mania for what was proper all through the nps 
and downs of her existence. When she received she would not be 
addressed familiarly. 

The little maid handed round some glasses of punch, with her 
agreeable air. Octave took one, and, leaning toward his friend, 
whispered in his ear: 

“ The servant is better than the mistress.” 

“ Why, of course! always! ” said Trublot, with a shrug of the 
shoulders, full of a disdainful conviction. 

Clarisse came and talked with them for a moment. She multi¬ 
plied herself, going from one to another, casting a word here, a 
laugh or gesture there. As each new-comer lighted a cigar the 
drawing-room was soon full of smoke. 

“ Oh! the horrid men! ” exclaimed she, prettily, as she went and 
opened a window. 

Without losing any time, Bachelard made Monsieur Josserand 
comfortable in the recess of this window, to enable him to breathe, 
said he. Then, thanks to a masterly maneuver, he brought Duvey- 
rier to an anchor there also, and quickly broached the affair. So 
the two families were about to be united by a close tie; he felt 
highly honored. Then he inquired what day the marriage con¬ 
tract was going to be signed, and that led him up to the matter in 
hand. 

“ We intended calling on you to-morrow, Josserand and I, to 
settle everything, for we are aware that Monsieur Auguste would do 
nothing without you. It is with respect to the payment of the 
dowry; and, really, as we are so comfortable here-” 

Monsieur Josserand, again suffering the greatest anguish, looked 
out into the gloomy depths of the Rue de la Cerisaie, with its 
deserted pavements, and its dark fapades. He regretted having 
come. They were again going to take advantage of his weakness 
and engage him in some disgraceful affair, which would cause him 
no end of suffering afterward. A feeling of revolt made him inter¬ 
rupt his brother-in-law. 

“ Another time; this is not a fitting place, really.” 

“ But why, pray? ” exclaimed Duveyrier, very graciously. “ We 
are better here than anywhere else. You were saying, sir? ” 

“We give Berthe fifty thousand francs,” continued the uncle. 
“ Only, these fifty thousand francs are represented by a dotal insur¬ 
ance at twenty years’ date, which Josserand took out for his 
daughter when she was four years old. She will, therefore, only 
receive the money in three years’ time-” 

“ Allow me!” again interrupted the cashier, with a scared look. 

“No, let me finish; Monsieur Duveyrier understands perfectly. 
We do not wish the young couple to wait three years for money they 
may need at once, and we engage ourselves to pay the dowry in 
installments of ten thousand francs every six months, on the under- 


100 


POT-BOUILLE 


standing that we repay ourselves later on with the insurance 
money. ” 

A pause ensued. Monsieur Josserand, feeling frozen and choking, 
again looked into the dark street. 

u All that seems to me very reasonable, ” said he, at length. “ It 
is for us to thank you. It is very seldom that a dowry is paid at 
once in full. ” 

“ Never, sir! ” affirmed the uncle, energetically. “ Such a thing 
is never done. ” 

And the three men shook hands as they arranged to meet on the 
Thursday at the notary’s. When Monsieur Josserand came back 
into the light, he was So pale that he was asked if he was unwell. 
As a matter of fact he did not feel very well, and he withdrew, 
without being willing to wait for his brother-in-law, who had just 
gone into the dining-room where the classic tea was represented by 
champagne. 

Gueulin, stretched on a sofa near the window, murmured: 

“ That scoundrel of an uncle! ” 

He had overheard some words about the insurance, and he 
chuckled as he confided the truth of the matter to Octave and 
Trublot. It had been done at his office; there was not a sou to 
receive, the Yabres were being taken in. Then, as the two others 
laughed at this good joke, holding their sides meanwhile, he added, 
with comical earnestness. 

“ I want a hundred francs. If the uncle doesn’t give me a 
hundred francs, I’ll split. ” 

The voices were becoming louder, the champagne was upsetting 
the good behavior established by Clarisse. In her drawing-room 
the conclusion of all the parties was invariably rather lively. She 
herself would make a mistake sometimes. Trublot drew Octave’s 
attention to her as she stood behind a door with her arms round the 
neck of a fellow with the build of a peasant, a stone carver just 
arrived from the South, and whom his native town wished to make 
an artist of. But, Duveyrier having pushed the door, she quickly 
removed her arms, and recommended the young man to him: Mon¬ 
sieur Payan, a sculptor with a very graceful talent; and Duveyrier, 
delighted, promised to obtain some work for him. 

“Work, work,” repeated Gueulin, in a low voice; “ he has as 
much here as he can want, the big ninny! ” 

Toward two o’clock, when the three young men and the uncle left 
the Rue de la Cerisaie, the latter was completely drunk. 

“ Hang it all, uncle! keep yourself up! you’re breaking our 
arms! ” 

He, with his throat full of sobs, had become very tender hearted 
and very moral. 

“Go away, Gueulin,” stuttered he; “go away! I won’t have 
you see your uncle in such a state. No, my boy, it’s not right; go 
away! ” 

And as his nephew called him an old rogue: 


POT-BOUILLE 


101 


u Rogue! that’s nothing. One must make oneself respected. I 
esteem women — always decent women ; and when there’s no feel¬ 
ing it disgusts me. Go away, Gueulin, you’re making your uncle 
blush. These gentlemen are sufficient.” 

“ Then,” declared Gueulin, “ you must give me a hundred francs. 
Really, I want them for my rent. They’re going to turn me out.” 

At this unexpected demand, Bachelard’s intoxication increased to 
such an extent that he had to be propped up against the shutters 
of a warehouse. He stuttered: 

“ Eh ! what! a hundred francs! Don’t search me. I’ve nothing 
but coppers. You want ’em to squander in bad places! No, I’ll 
never encourage you in your vices. I know my duty; your mother 
confided you to my care on her death-bed. You know, I’ll call out 
if I am searched.” 

He continued, his indignation increasing against the dissolute 
life led by youth, and returning to the necessity there was for the 
display of virtue. 

“ I say,” Gueulin ended by saying, “ I’ve not got to the point of 
taking families in. Ah ! you know what I mean! If I were to talk, 
you’d soon give me my hundred francs ! ” 

But the uncle at once became deaf to everything. He went 
grunting and stumbling along. In the narrow street where they 
then were, behind the church of Saint-Gervaise, a white lantern 
alone burned with the palish glimmer of a night-light, displaying 
a gigantic number painted on its roughened glass. A stifled trepida¬ 
tion issued from the house, whilst the closed shutters emitted a few 
narrow rays of light. 

“ I’ve had enough of it,” declared Gueulin, abruptly. “ Excuse 
me, uncle, I forgot my umbrella up there. ” 

And he entered the house. Bachelard was indignant and full of 
disgust. He demanded at least a little respect for women. With 
such morals France was done for. On the Place de l’Hotel-de- 
Ville, Octave and Trublot at length found a cab, inside which they 
shoved him like some bundle. 

“Rue d’Enghien,” said they to the driver. “You must pay 
yourself. Search him.” 

The marriage contract was signed on the Thursday before Maitre 
Renaudin, notary in the Rue de Grammont. At the moment of 
starting, there had been another awful row at the Josserands’, the 
father having, in a supreme revolt, made the mother responsible for 
the lie they had forced him to countenance; and they had once 
more cast their families in each other’s teeth. How did they expect 
him to earn another ten thousand francs every six months ? The 
obligation was driving him mad. Uncle Bachelard, who was there, 
kept placing his hand on his heart, full of fresh promises, now that 
he had so managed that he would not have to part with a sou, and 
overflowing with affection, and swearing that he would never leave 
his little Berthe in an awkward position. But the father, in his 


102 


POT-BOUILLE 


exasperation, had merely shrugged his shoulders, asking Bache- 
lard if he really took him for a fool. 

On the evening of that day, a cab came to fetch Saturnin away. 
His mother had declared that it was too dangerous for him to be at 
the ceremony; one could not cast loose a madman who talked of 
spitting people in the midst of a wedding party; and, Monsieur 
Josserand, broken-hearted, had been obliged to apply for the 
admission of the poor fellow into the Asile des Moulineaux, kept by 
Doctor Chassagne. The cab was brought under the porch at twilight. 
Saturnin came down holding Berthe’s hand, and thinking he was 
going with her into the country. But when he was inside the cab, 
he struggled furiously, breaking the windows and thrusting his 
bloody fists through them. And Monsieur Josserand returned 
up-stairs weeping, all upset by this departure in the dark, his ears 
ringing with the wretched creature’s yells, mingled with the cracking 
of the whip and the gallop of the horse. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The marriage before the mayor had taken place on the Thursday. 
On the Saturday morning, as early as a quarter past ten, some 
ladies were already waiting in the Josserands’ drawing-room, the 
religious ceremony being fixed for eleven o’clock, at Saint-Roch. 
There were Madame Juzeur, always in black silk; Madame 
Dambreville, tightly laced in a costume of the color of dead leaves; 
and Madame Duveyrier, dressed very simply in pale blue. All three 
were conversing in low tones amongst the scattered chairs; whilst 
Madame Josserand was finishing dressing Berthe in the adjoining 
room, assisted by the servant and the two bridesmaids, Hortense 
and little Campardon. 

“ Oh! it is not that, ” murmured Madame Duveyrier; “ the family 
is honorable. But, I admit, I rather dreaded on my brother Auguste’s 
account the mother’s domineering spirit. One cannot be too careful, 
can one ? ” 

“No doubt,” said Madame Juzeur; “one not only marries the 
daughter, one often marries the mother as well, and it is very 
unpleasant when the latter interferes in the home. ” 

This time Angkle and Hortense opened the folding doors wide so 
that the bride should not catch her dress in anything; and Berthe 
appeared in a white silk dress, all gay with white flowers, with a 
white wreath, a white bouquet, and a white garland, which crossed 
the skirt, and was lost in the train in a shower of little white buds. 
She looked charming amidst all this whiteness, with her fresh com¬ 
plexion, her golden hair, her laughing eyes, and her candid mouth 
of an already enlightened girl. 



POT-BOUILLE 


103 


“ Oh! delicious! ” exclaimed the ladies. 

They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at 
their wits’ end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs 
which the wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, 
and fifteen hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, 
had been obliged to send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne’s to see Sat- 
urnin, to whom an aunt had just left three thousand francs; and 
Berthe, having obtained permission to take her brother out for a 
drive, by way of amusing him, had smothered him with caresses in 
the cab, and had then gone with him for a minute to the notary, 
who was unaware of the poor creature’s condition, and who had 
everything ready for his signature. The silk dress and the abun¬ 
dance of flowers surprised the ladies, who were reckoning up the cost 
whilst giving vent to their admiration. 

“ Perfect! in most exquisite taste ! ” 

Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an 
unpleasant hue, which made her look taller and rounder than ever, 
with the majesty of a tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, 
called to Hortense to find her shawl, and vehemently forbade 
Berthe to sit down. 

11 Take care, you will crush your flowers! n 

u Do not worry yourself, ” said Clothilde, in her calm voice. “ We 
have plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us. ” 

They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Theophile 
abruptly burst in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a 
piece of cord, and without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and 
bad teeth, was livid; his limbs, like an ailing child’s, were trembling 
with fury. 

“ What is the matter with you ? ” asked his sister, in amazement. 

“ The matter is—the matter is-” 

But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a 
minute, choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being 
unable to give vent to his anger. Valerie looked at him, confused, 
and warned by a sort of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, 
without even noticing the bride and the other ladies around him. 

“ Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter 
in front of the wardrobe.” 

He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His 
wife had turned pale. She realized the situation; and, to avoid the 
scandal of a public explanation, she passed into the room that 
Berthe had just left. 

“ Ah! well,” said she, simply, “ I prefer to leave if he is going 
mad.” 

“ Let me alone ! ” cried Theophile to Madame Duveyrier, who 
was trying to quiet him. “ I intend to confound her. This time I 
have proof, and there is no doubt, oh, no! It shall not pass off like 
that, for I know him-” 

His sister had seized him by the arm, and squeezing it, shook him 
authoritatively. 


104 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Hold yonr tongue! don’t you see where you are ? This is not 
the proper time, understand! ” 

But he started off again : 

“ It is the proper time! I don’t care a hang for the others. So 
much the worse that it happens to-day! It will serve as a lesson to 
every one. ” 

However, he lowered his voice, his strength failing him, he had 
dropped onto a chair, ready to burst into tears. An uncomfortable 
feeling had invaded the drawing-room. Madame Dambreville and 
Madame Juzeur had politely gone to the other end of the apart¬ 
ment, and pretended not to understand. Madame Josserand, 
greatly annoyed at an adventure, the scandal of which would cast 
a gloom over the wedding, had passed into the bed-room to cheer up 
Valerie. As for Berthe, who was studying her wreath before the 
looking-glass, she had not heard anything. Therefore, she ques¬ 
tioned Hortense in a low voice. They whispered together; the 
latter indicated Theophile with a glance, and added some explana¬ 
tions, while pretending to arrange the fall of the veil. 

“Ah!” simply said the bride, with a chaste and amused-look, 
her eyes fixed on the husband, without the least sign of confusion 
in her halo of white flowers. 

Clotilde softly asked her brother for particulars. Madame Jos¬ 
serand reappeared, exchanged a few words with her, and then 
returned to the adjoining room. It was an exchange of diplomatic 
notes. The husband accused Octave, -that counter-jumper, whom 
he would chastise in church, if he dared to come there. He swore 
he had seen him the previous day with his wife on the steps of 
Saint-Roch; he had had a doubt before, but now he was sure of it 
—everything tallied, the height, the walk. Yes, madame invented 
luncheons with lady friends, or else she went inside Saint-Eoch with 
Camille, through the same door as every one, as though to say her 
prayers; then leaving the child with the woman who let out the 
chairs, she would make off with her gentleman by the old way, a 
dirty passage, where no one would have gone to look for her. How¬ 
ever, Valerie had smiled on hearing Octave’s name mentioned; never 
with that one, she pledged her oath to Madame Josserand, with 
nobody at all for the matter of that, she added, but less with him 
than with any one else; and, this time, with truth on her side, she, 
in her turn, talked of confounding her husband, by proving to him 
that the note was no more in Octave’s handwriting than that Octave 
was the gentleman of Saint-Roch. Madame Josserand listened to 
her, studying her with her experienced glance, and solely preoccupied 
with finding some means of helping her to deceive Theophile. And 
she gave her the very best advice. 

“ Leave all to me, don’t move in the matter. As he chooses, it 
shall be Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. 
There is no harm in being seen on the steps of a church with 
Monsieur Mouret, is there? The letter alone is compromising. 
You will triumph when our young friend shows him a couple of 


POT-BOUILLE 


105 


lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just the same as I 
say. You understand, I don’t intend to let him spoil such a day as 
this.” 

When she returned into the room with Valerie, who was greatly 
affected, Theopliile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking 
voice: 

“ I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you 
assure me it would scarcely he proper, on account of this wedding. 
But I cannot be answerable for what may take place at church. If 
the counter-jumper comes and beards me there, in the midst of my 
own family, I will exterminate them one after the other. ” 

Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye 
shrunk up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading 
for three days past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his 
father and his brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch 
his bride. There was a little jostling, for they had ended by being 
late. 

At Saint-Roch the big double doors were opened wide. A red 
carpet covered the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; 
the May morning was very cold. 

“ Thirteen steps,” said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valerie, 
when they had passed through the doorway. “It is not a good 
sign.” 

“ Are you sure you have the ring? ” inquired Madame Josserand 
of Auguste, who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs 
placed before the altar. 

He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his 
waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. 
Ever since she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching 
the company with her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, 
both best men; Uncle Bachelard and Campardon, the bride’s wit¬ 
nesses; Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the bridegroom’s witnesses, 
and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was proud. But 
she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously opening 
a passage for Madame Bedouin, and she drew him behind a pillar, 
where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a 
look of bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. 
However, he bowed with an air of amiable obedience. 

“It is settled, ” whispered Madame Josserand in Valerie’s ear, 
returning and seating herself in one of the arm-chairs placed for 
the members of the family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. 
Monsieur Josserand, the Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also 
there. 

The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, 
broken by big pants. There was quite a crush; the choir was fill¬ 
ing up, and men remained standing in the aisles. The Abb6 Mau- 
duit had reserved to himself the joy of blessing the union of one of 
his dear penitents. When he appeared in his surplice, he exchanged 
a friendly smile with the congregation, every face there being 


106 


POT-BOUILLE 


familiar to him. Some voices commenced the Veni Creator , the 
organs resumed their song of triumph, and it was at this moment 
that Theophile discovered Octave, to the left of the chancel, stand¬ 
ing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph. 

His sister Clotilde tried to detain him. 

“ I cannot,” stammered he; “I will never submit to it.” 

And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The 
Veni Creator continued. A few persons looked round. 

Theophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agita¬ 
tion, when planting himself before Octave, that he was unable at 
first to say a word, vexed at being short, and raising himself up on 
tiptoe. 

“ Sir, ” said he at length, “ I saw you yesterday with my wife-” 

But the Veni Creator was just coming to an end, and he was quite 
scared on hearing the sound of his own voice. Moreover, Duvey¬ 
rier, very much annoyed by the incident, tried to make him under¬ 
stand that the time was badly chosen for an explanation. The 
ceremony had now begun before the altar. After addressing an 
affecting exhortation to the bride and bridegroom, the priest took 
the wedding-ring to bless it. 

“ Benedic, Domine Deus noster, annulum nuptialem hunc, quern 
nos in tuo nomine benedicimus -” 

Then Theophile plucked up courage to repeat his words in a low 
voice: 

“ Sir, you were in this church yesterday with my wife. ” 

Octave, still bewildered by what Madame Josserand had said to 
him, and without having thoroughly understood her, related the 
little story, however, in an easy sort of way. 

“ Yes, I did indeed meet Madame Vabre, and we went and looked 
at the repairing of the Calvary which my friend Campardon is 
directing. ” 

“ You admit it, ” stammered the husband, again overcome with 
fury, “ you admit it-” 

Duveyrier was obliged to slap him on the shoulder to calm him. 
The shrill voice of one of the boy choristers was responding: 

11 Amen.” 

11 And you no doubt recognize this letter,” continued Theophile, 
offering a piece of paper to Octave. 

“ Come, not here! ” said the counselor, thoroughly scandalized. 
“ You are going out of your mind, my dear fellow.” 

Octave unfolded the letter. The emotion had increased amongst 
the congregation. There were whisperings, and nudgings of 
elbows, and glancing over the tops of prayer-books; no one was 
now paying the least attention to the ceremony. The bride and 
bridegroom alone remained grave and stiff before the priest. Then 
Berthe, turning her head, caught sight of Theophile getting whiter 
and whiter as he addressed Octave; and, from that moment, her 
mind was absent —she kept casting bright side glances in the direct 
tion of the chapel of Saint-Joseph. 


POT-BOUILLE 


107 


Meanwhile, the young man was reading in a low voice: 

“ My duck, what bliss yesterday ! Tuesday next, in the confes¬ 
sional of the chapel of the Holy Angels.” 

The priest, after having obtained from the bridegroom the “ yes” 
of a serious man who signs nothing without reading it, had turned 
toward the bride. 

“You promise and swear to be faithful to Monsieur Auguste 
Vabre in all things, like a true wife should be to her husband, in 
accordance with God’s commandment? ” 

But Berthe, having seen the letter, and full of the thought of the 
blows she was expecting would be given, was not listening, but was 
following the scene from beneath her veil. There was an awk¬ 
ward silence. At length she became aware that they were waiting 
for her. 

“ Yes, yes,” she hastily replied, in a happen-what-may manner. 

The abbe followed the direction of her glance with surprise; and, 
guessing that something unusual was taking place in one of the 
aisles, he in turn became singularly absent-minded. The story had 
now circulated; every one knew it. The ladies, pale and grave, did 
not withdraw their eyes from Octave. The men smiled in a dis¬ 
creetly waggish way. And, whilst Madame Josserand reassured 
Madame Duveyrier, with slight shrugs of her shoulders, Valerie 
alone seemed to give all her attention to the wedding, beholding 
nothing else, as though overcome by emotion. 

“ My duck, what bliss yesterday — ” Octave read again, affecting 
intense surprise. 

Then, returning the letter to the husband, he said : 

“ I do not understand it, sir. The writing is not mine. See for 
yourself. ” 

And taking from his pocket a note-book in which he wrote down 
his expenses, like the careful fellow he was, he showed it to Theophile. 

“What! not your writing! ” stammered the latter. “You are 
making a fool of me; it must be your writing.” 

The priest had to make the sign of the cross on Berthe’s left 
hand. His eyes elsewhere, he mistook the hand and made it on the 
right one. 

“ In nomine Patris , et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . ” 

“Amen,” responded the boy chorister, also raising himself up to 
see. 

In short, the scandal was prevented. Duveyrier proved to poor, 
bewildered Theophile that the letter could not have been written by 
Monsieur Mouret. It was almost a disappointment for the congre¬ 
gation. There were sighs, and a few hasty words exchanged. And 
when every one, still in a state of excitement, turned again toward 
the altar, Berthe and Auguste were man and wife, she without 
appearing to have been aware of what was going on, he not hav¬ 
ing missed a word the priest had uttered, giving his whole atten¬ 
tion to the matter, only disturbed by his headache, which closed his 
left eye. 


108 


POT-BOUILLE 


“The dear children! ” said Monsieur Josserand, absorbed in 
mind and his voice trembling, to Monsieur Yabre, who ever since 
the commencement of the ceremony had been busy counting the 
lighted tapers, always making a mistake, and beginning his calcula¬ 
tions over again. 

“Admit nothing,” said Madame Josserand to Valerie, as the 
family moved toward the vestry after the mass. 

In the vestry the married couple and their witnesses first of all 
wrote their signatures. They were kept waiting, however, by 
Campardon, who had taken some ladies to inspect the works at the 
Calvary, at the end of the choir, behind a wooden hoarding. He at 
length arrived, and, apologizing, proceeded to cover the register 
with a big flourish. The Abbe Mauduit had wished to honor the 
two families by handing round the pen himself, and pointing out 
with his finger the place where each one was to sign; and he smiled 
with his air of amiable, worldly tolerance in the center of the grave 
apartment, the woodwork of which retained a continual odor of 
incense. 

“ Well! mademoiselle,” said Campardon to Hortense, “ does not 
all this make you long to do the same ?” 

Then he regretted his want of tact. Hortense, who was the elder 
sister, bit her lips. She was expecting to have a decisive answer 
from Verdier that evening at the ball, for she had been pressing him 
to choose between her and his creature. Therefore she replied in an 
unpleasant tone of voice: 

“ I have plenty of time. Whenever I think proper. ” 

And, turning her back on the architect, she attacked her brother 
Leon, who had only just arrived, late as usual. 

“ You are nice! papa and mamma are very pleased. Not even 
able to be in time when one of your sisters is being married! We 
were expecting you at least with Madame Dambreville. ” 

“Madame Dambreville does what she pleases,” said the young 
man curtly, “ and I do what I can.” 

A coolness had arisen between them. Leon considered that she 
was keeping him too long for her own use, and was weary of a con¬ 
nection the burden of which he had accepted in the sole "hope of its 
leading to some grand marriage; and for a fortnight past he had 
been requesting her to keep her promises. Madame Dambreville, 
carried away by a passion of love, had even complained to Madame 
Josserand of what she termed her son’s crotchets. 

“ Yet a marriage is so soon settled!” said Madame Dambreville, 
without thinking of her words, and bestowing on him an imploring 
look to soften him. 

“ Not always!” retorted he, harshly. 

And he went and kissed Berthe, then shook his new brother-in- 
law’s hand, whilst Madame Dambreville turned pale with anguish, 
drawing herself up in her costume of the color of dead leaves, and 
smiling vaguely toward the persons who entered. 

It was the procession of friends, of simple acquaintances, of all the 


BOT-BOtTILLE 


109 


guests gathered together in the church, which how passed through 
the vestry. The newly married couple, standing up, were continually 
distributing hand-shakes, and invariably with the same embarrassed 
and delighted air. The Josserands and the Duveyriers were not 
always able to go through the introductions. At times they looked 
at each other in surprise, for Bachelard had brought persons whom 
nobody knew, and who talked too loud. Little by little everything 
gave way to confusion; there was quite a crush, hands were held 
out over the heads, young girls squeezed between pot-bellied gentle¬ 
men, left pieces of their white skirts on the legs of these fathers, 
these brothers, these uncles, still sweating with some vice, enfran¬ 
chised in a quiet neighborhood. Away from the crowd, Gueulin and 
Trublot were relating to Octave how Clarisse had almost been caught 
by Duveyrier the night before, and had now resigned herself to 
smothering him with caresses, so as to shut his eyes. 

“ Hallo ! ” murmured Gueulin, “ he is kissing the bride; it must 
smell nice.” 

Valerie, who kept Madame Juzeur near her to help her to keep 
her countenance, listened with emotion to the conciliatory words 
which the Abbe Mauduit also considered it his duty to address to 
her. Then, as they were at length leaving the church, she paused 
before the two fathers, to allow Berthe to pass on her husband’s 
arm. 

“You ought to be satisfied,” said she to Monsieur Josserand, 
wishing to show how free her mind was. “ I congratulate you.” 

“ Yes, yes,” declared Monsieur Vabre in his clammy voice, “it 
is a very great responsibility the less. ” 

And, whilst Trublot and Gueulin rushed about seeing all the ladies 
to the carriages, Madame Josserand, whose shawl attracted quite a 
crowd, obstinately insisted on remaining the last on the pavement, 
publicly to display her maternal triumph. 

The repast that evening at the Hotel du Louvre was likewise 
marred by Theophile’s unlucky affair. The latter was quite a plague, 
it had been the topic of conversation all the afternoon in the car¬ 
riages during the drive in the Bois de Boulogne; and the ladies 
always came to this conclusion, that the husband ought at least to 
have waited until the morrow before finding the letter. None but 
the most intimate friends of both families sat down to table. The 
only lively episode was a speech from uncle Bachelard, whom the 
Josserands could not very well avoid inviting, in spite of their 
terror. He was drunk, indeed, as early as the roast: he raised his 
glass, and commenced with these words: “lam happy in the joy I 
feel,” which he kept repeating, unable to say anything further. 
The other guests smiled complacently. Auguste and Berthe, 
already worn out, looked at each other every now and then, with an 
air of surprise at seeing themselves opposite one another; and, 
when they remembered how this was, they gazed in their plates in 
a confused way. 

Nearly two hundred invitations had been issued for the ball. The 


110 


POT-BOUILLE 


guests began to arrive as early as half-past nine. Three chan* 
deliers lit up the large red drawing-room, in which only some seats 
along the wall had been left, whilst at one end, in front of the fire¬ 
place, the little orchestra was installed; moreover, a bar had been 
placed at the farthest end of an adjoining room, and the two fam¬ 
ines also had a small apartment into which they could retire. 

As Madame Duveyrier and Madame Josserand were receiving the 
first arrivals, that poor Theophile, who had been watched ever 
since the morning, was guilty of a most regrettable piece of brutality. 
Campardon was asking Valerie to grant him the first waltz. She 
laughed, and the husband took it as a provocation. 

“You laugh! you laugh!” stammered he. “ Tell me who the 
letter is from ? It must be from somebody, that letter must. ” 

He had taken the entire afternoon to disengage that one idea 
from the confusion into which Octave’s answers had plunged him. 
Now, he stuck to it: if it was not Monsieur Mouret, it was then 
some one else, and he demanded a name. As Valerie was walking 
off without answering him, he seized hold of her arm and twisted 
it spitefully, with the rage of an exasperated child, repeating the 
while: 

“ I’ll break it. Tell me, who is the letter from? ” 

The young woman, frightened, and stifling a cry of pain, had 
become quite white. Campardon felt her abandoning herself against 
his shoulder, succumbing to one of those nervous attacks which 
would shake her for hours together. He had scarcely time to lead 
her into the apartment reserved for the two families, where he laid 
her on a sofa. Some ladies had followed him —Madame Juzeur, 
Madame Dambreville—who unlaced her, whilst he discreetly retired. 

“ Sir, I beg your pardon, ” said Theophile, going up to Octave, 
whose eyes he had encountered when twisting his wife’s arm. 
“ Every one in my place would have suspected you; is it not so? 
But I wish to shake hands with you, to prove to you that I admit 
myself to have been in the wrong. ” 

He shook hands with him, and led him one side, tortured by a 
necessity to unbosom himself, to find a confidant for the outpour¬ 
ings of his heart. 

“ Ah! sir, if I were to tell you-” 

And he talked for a long while of his wife. When a young girl, 
she was delicate, it was said jokingly that marriage would set her 
right. She had not sufficient air in her parents’ shop, where, every 
evening for three months, she had appeared to him very nice, obe¬ 
dient, of a rather sad disposition, but charming. 

“ Well! sir, marriage did not set her right — far from it. After a 
few weeks she became terrible; we could no longer agree together. 
There were quarrels about nothing at all. Changes of temper at 
every minute —laughing, crying, without my knowing why. And 
absurd sentiments, ideas that would knock a person down, a perpet¬ 
ual mania for making people wild. In short, sir, my home has become 
a hell. ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


111 


11 It is very remarkable,” murmured Octave, who felt a necessity 
for saying something. 

Then, the husband, ghastly pale, and drawing himself up on his 
short legs, to override the ridiculous, came to what he called the 
wretched woman’s bad behavior. Twice he had suspected her; but 
he was too honorable; he could not retain such an idea in his head. 
This time, though, he was obliged to yield to evidence. It was not 
possible to doubt, was it ? And, with his trembling fingers, he felt 
the pocket of his waistcoat which contained the letter. 

“ If she did it for money, I might understand it, ” added he. 
“ But they never gave her any; I am sure of that; I should know 
it. Then, tell me what it can be that she has in her skin? I am 
very nice myself; she has everything at home. I cannot understand 
it. If you can understand it, sir, explain it to me, I beg of you. ” 

“ It is very curious, very curious,” repeated Octave, embarrassed 
by all these disclosures, and trying to make his escape. 

But the husband, in a state of fever, and tormented by a want of 
certitude, would not let him go. At this moment, Madame Juzeur, 
reappearing, went and whispered a word to Madame Josserand, who 
was greeting the arrival of a big jeweler of the Palais-Royal with a 
grand curtesy; and she, quite upset, hastened to follow her. 

“ I think that your wife has a very violent attack,” obserevd 
Octave to Theophile. 

“ Never mind her! ” replied the latter in a fury, vexed at not 
being ill, so as to be coddled up also; “ she is only to pleased to 
have an attack ! It always puts every one on her side. My health 
is no better than hers, yet I have never deceived her ! ” 

Madame Josserand did not return. The rumor circulated among 
the intimate friends that Valerie was struggling in frightful convul¬ 
sions. There should have been men present to hold her down; but, 
as they had been obliged to half undress her, they declined Trublot’s 
and Gueulin’s offers of assistance. 

“ Doctor Juillerat! where is Doctor Juillerat?” asked Madame 
Josserand, rushing back into the room. 

The doctor had been invited, but no one had as yet seen him. 
Then she no longer strove to hide the slumbering rage which had 
been collecting within her since the morning. She spoke out before 
Octave and Campardon, without mincing her words. 

“ I am beginning to have enough of it. It is not very pleasant 
for my daughter, all this cuckoldom paraded before us! ” 

She looked about for Hortense, and at length caught sight of her 
talking to a gentleman, of whom she could only see the back, but 
whom she recognized by its breadth. It was Verdier. This 
increased her ill-humor. She sharply called the young girl to her, 
and, lowering her voice, told her that she would do better to remain 
at her mother’s disposal on such a day as that. Hortense did not 
listen to the reprimand. She was triumphant; Verdier had just 
fixed their marriage at two months from then, in June. 

“ Shut up! ” said the mother. 


112 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ I assure you, mamma. He already sleeps out three nights .a 
week so as to accustom the other to it, and in a fortnight lie will 
stop away altogether. Then it will he all over, and I shall have 
him.” 

“ Shut up! I have already had more than enough of your 
romance! You will just oblige me by waiting near the door for 
Doctor Juillerat, and by sending him to me the moment he arrives. 
And, above all, not a word of all this to your sister! ” 

She returned to the adjoining room, leaving Hortense muttering 
that, thank goodness! she required no one’s approbation, and that 
they would all be nicely caught one day, when they saw her make a 
better marriage than the others. Yet, she went to the door, and 
watched for the doctor’s arrival. 

The orchestra was now playing a waltz. Berthe was dancing 
with one of her husband’s young cousins, so as to dispose of the 
relations in turn. All the guests had an air of amusing themselves 
immensely, and expatiated before them on the liveliness of the ball. 
It was, according to Campardon, a liveliness of a good standard. 

The architect, with an effusion of gallantry, concerned himself a 
great deal about Valerie’s condition, without, however, missing a 
dance. He had the idea to send his daughter Angele for news in 
his name. The child, whose fourteen years had been burning with 
curiosity since the morning around the lady that every one was 
talking about, was delighted at being able to penetrate into the 
little room. And, as she did not return, the architect was obliged 
to take the liberty of slightly opening the door and thrusting his 
head in. He beheld his daughter standing up beside the sofa, 
deeply absorbed by the sight of Valerie, whose bosom, shaken by 
spasms, had escaped from the unhooked bodice. Protestations 
arose, the ladies called to him not to come in; and he withdrew, 
assuring them that he merely wished to know how she was get¬ 
ting on. 

“ She is no better, she is no better,” said he,in a melancholy way 
to the persons who happened to be near the door. “ There are four 
Of them holding her. How strong a woman must be, to be able to 
bound about like that without hurting herself! ” 

But Doctor Juillerat quickly crossed the ball-room, accompanied 
by Hortense, who was explaining matters to him. Madame Duvey- 
rier followed them. Some persons showed their surprise, more 
rumors circulated. Scarcely had the doctor disappeared than 
Madame Josserand left the little room with Madame Dambreville. 
Her rage was increasing; she had just emptied two water bottles 
over Valerie’s head; never before had she seen a woman as nervous 
as that. Then she had decided to make the round of the ball-room, 
so as to stop all remarks by her presence. Only, she walked with 
such a terrible step, she distributed such sour smiles, that every one 
behind her was let into the secret. 

Madame Dambreville did not leave her. Ever since the morning 
she had been speaking to her of Leon, making vague com- 


POT-BOUILLE 


113 


plaints, trying to bring her to speak to her son, so as to patch up 
their connection. She drew her attention to him, as he was con¬ 
ducting a tall, scraggy girl back to her place, and to whom he made 
a show of being very assiduous. 

“ He abandons us,” said she, with a slight laugh, trembling with 
suppressed tears. “ Scold him now, for not so much as looking at 
us.” 

“ Leon ! ” called Madame Josserand. 

When he came to her, she added roughly, not being in the temper 
to choose her words: 

“ Why are you angry with madame ¥ She bears you no ill-will. 
Make it up with her. It does no good to be ill-tempered. ” 

And she left them embarrassed before each other. Madame 
Dambreville took Leon’s arm, and they went and conversed in the 
recess of a window; then they tenderly left the ball-room together. 
She had sworn to arrange his marriage in the autumn. 

Madame Josserand, who continued to distribute smiles, was over¬ 
come by emotion when she found herself before Berthe, who was out 
of breath at having danced so much, and looked quite rosy in her 
white dress, which was becoming rumpled. She clasped her iu her 
arms, and almost fainted away at a vague association of ideas, 
recalling, no doubt, the other one, whose face was so frightfully 
convulsed: 

“ My poor darling, my poor darling! ” murmured she, giving her 
two big kisses. 

Then Berthe calmly asked: 

“ How is she ¥ ” 

At this, Madame Josserand at once became very sour again. 
What! Berthe knew it! Why of course she knew it, every one 
knew it. Her husband alone, whom she pointed out conducting an 
old lady to the refreshment bar, was still ignorant of the story. 
She even intended to get some one to tell him everything, for it 
made him appear too stupid to be always behind every one else, and 
never to know anything. 

“ And I, who have been slaving to hide the catastrophe ” said 
Madame Josserand, beside herself. 11 Ah, well! I shall not put 
myself out any more, it must be put a stop to. I will not tolerate 
their making you ridiculous. ” 

Every one did indeed know it. Only, so as not to cast a gloom 
over the ball, it was not talked about. 

“She is better,” Campardon, who had taken another peep, 
hastened to say. “ One can go in. ” 

A few male friends ventured to enter. Valerie was still lying 
down, only the attack was passing off; and, out of decency, they 
had covered her bosom with a napkin, found lying on a sideboard. 
Madame Juzeur and Madame Duveyrier were standing before the 
window listening to Doctor Juillerat, who was explaining that the 
attacks sometimes yielded to hot water applications to the neck. 

Pot-Bouille 8 


114 


POT-BOUILLE 


But the invalid, having seen Octave enter with Campardon, called 
him to her by a sign, and spoke a few incoherent words to him in a 
final hallucination. He had to sit down beside her, at the doctor’s 
express order, who was desirous above all not to thwart her; and 
thus the young man listened to her disclosures, he who, during the 
evening, had already heard the husband’s. She trembled with 
fright, she took him for her lover, and implored him to hide her. 
Then she recognized him, and burst into tears, thanking him for his 
lie of the morning during mass. Octave thought of that other 
attack, of which he had wished to take advantage, with the greedy 
desire of a school-boy. Now, he was her friend, and she would tell 
him everything, perhaps it would be better. 

At this moment, Theophile, who had continued to wander up and 
down before the door, wished to enter. Other men were there, so 
he could very well be there himself. But his appearance created a 
regular panic. On hearing his voice, Valerie was again seized 
with a fit of trembling, every one thought she was about to have 
another attack. He, imploring, and struggling amongst the 
ladies, whose arms thrust him back, kept obstinately repeating: 

“ I only ask her for the name. Let her tell me the name. ” 

Then, Madame Josserand, arriving, gave vent to her wrath. She 
drew Theophile into the little room, to hide the scandal; and said to 
him furiously: 

“Look here! will you shut up? Ever since this morning you 
have been badgering us with your stupidities. You have no tact, 
sir; yes, you have absolutely no tact at all! One should not harp 
on such things on a wedding day. ” 

“ Excuse me, madame,” murmured he, “ this is my business, and 
does not concern you! ” 

“ What! it does not concern me ? but I form part of your family 
now, sir, and do you think your affair amuses me on account of my 
daughter? Ah! you have given her a pretty wedding! Not another 
word, sir, you are deficient in tact! ” 

This cry closed his mouth. He was so scared, so feeble looking, 
with his slender limbs, and his face like a girl’s, that the ladies 
smiled slightly. When one had not the facilities for making a 
woman happy, one ought not to marry. Hortense weighed him with 
a disdainful glance; little Angele, whom they had forgotten, hovered 
round him, with her sly air, as though she had been looking for 
something; and he drew back embarrassed, and blushed when he 
saw them all, so big and plump, hemming him in with their sturdy 
hips. But they felt the necessity of patching up the matter. 
Valerie had started off sobbing again, whilst the doctor continued 
to bathe her temples. Then they understood one another with a 
glance, a common feeling of defense drew them together. They 
puzzled their brains, trying to explain the letter to the husband. 

“ Pooh! ” murmured Trublot, who had just rejoined Octave, “ it 
is easy enough; they have only to say the letter was addressed to 
the servant. ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


115 


Madame Josserand heard him. She turned round and looked at 
him with a glance full of admiration. Then, turning toward Theo- 
phile: 

u Does an innocent woman lower herself to give explanations, 
when accused with such brutality ? Still, I may speak. The letter 
was dropped by Fran^oise, that maid whom your wife had to pack 
off on account of her bad conduct. There, are you satisfied ? do 
you not blush with shame? ” 

At first the husband shrugged his shoulders. But the ladies all 
remained serious, answering his objections with very strong reason¬ 
ing. He was shaken, when, to complete his discomfiture, Madame 
Duveyrier got angry, telling him that his conduct had been abomi¬ 
nable, and that she disowned him. Then, vanquished, and feeling a 
longing to be kissed, he threw his arms round Valerie’s neck, and 
begged her pardon. It was most touching. Even Madame Josser¬ 
and was deeply affected. 

“ It is always best to come to an understanding,” said she, with 
relief. “ The day will not end so badly, after all. ” 

When they had dressed Valerie again, and she appeared in the 
ball-room on Theophile’s arm, the joy seemed to be redoubled. It 
was close upon three o’clock, the guests were beginning to leave; 
but the orchestra continued to get through the quadrilles with 
great gusto. Some of the men smiled behind the backs of the 
reconciled couple. A medical remark of Campardon’s, respecting 
that poor Theophile, quite delighted Madame Juzeur. The young 
girls hastened to stare at Valerie; then they put on their stupid 
looks before their mothers’ scandalized glances. Berthe, who was 
at length dancing with her husband, must have whispered a word 
or two in his ear; for Auguste, made aware of what had been taking 
place, turned his head round, and, without getting out of step, 
looked at his brother Theophile with the surprise and the superiority 
of a man to whom such things cannot happen. There was a final 
galop, the guests were getting more free in the stifling heat and 
the reddish light of the candles, the vacillating flames of which 
caused the pendants of the chandeliers to sparkle. 

“ You are very intimate with her? ” asked Madame Hedouin, as 
she whirled round on Octave’s arm, having accepted his invitation 
to dance. 

The young man fancied he felt a slight quiver in her frame, so 
erect and so calm. 

“ Not at all, ” said he. “ They mixed me up in the matter, which 
annoys me immensely. The poor devil swallowed everything.” 

11 It is very wrong,” declared she, in her grave voice. 

No doubt Octave was mistaken. When he withdrew his arm from 
her waist, Madame Hedouin was not even panting, her eyes were 
clear, and her hair not the least disarranged. But a scandal upset 
the end of the ball. Uncle Bachelard, who had finished himself off 
at the refreshment bar, ventured on a lively idea. He had suddenly 
been seen dancing a most indecent step before Gueulin. Some nap- 


116 


POT-BOTTILLE 


kins rolled round and stuffed in front of kis buttoned-up coat, gave 
him the bosom of a wet-nurse, and two big oranges placed on the 
napkins, behind the lapels, displayed their roundness, in the san¬ 
guineous redness of an excoriated skin. This time every one pro¬ 
tested : though one may earn heaps of money, yet there are limits 
which a man who respects himself should never go beyond, 
especially before young persons. Monsieur Josserand, ashamed and 
in despair, drew his brother-in-law away. Duveyrier displayed the 
greatest disgust. 

At four o’clock the newly married couple returned to the Rue de 
Choiseul. They brought Tkeophile and Valerie back in their car¬ 
riage. As they went up to the second floor, where an apartment 
had been prepared for them, they came across Octave, who was also 
retiring to rest. The young man wished to draw politely on one 
side, but Berthe made a similar movement, and they knocked up 
against each other. 

“ Oh! excuse me, mademoiselle, ” said he. 

The word “ mademoiselle ” amused them immensely. She looked 
at him, and he recalled the first glance exchanged between them on 
that same staircase, a glance of gayety and daring, the charming 
welcome of which he again beheld. They understood each other 
perhaps; she blushed, whilst he went up alone to his room, in the 
midst of the death-like peacefulness of the upper floors. 

Auguste, with his left eye closed up, half mad with the headache 
which had been clinging to him since the morning, was already in 
the apartment, where the other members of the family were arriv¬ 
ing. Then, at the moment of quitting Berthe, Valerie yielded to a 
sudden fit of emotion, and pressing her in her arms, and completing 
the rumpling of her white dress, she kissed her, saying, in a low 
voice: 

“ Ah! my dear, I wish you better luck than I have had!” 


CHAPTER IX. 

Two days later, toward seven o’clock, as Octave arrived at the 
Campardons’ for dinner, he found Rose by herself, dressed in a 
cream-color dressing-gown, trimmed with white lace. 

“ Are you expecting any one? ” asked he. 

“No,” replied she, rather confused. “We will have dinner 
directly Achille comes in. ” 

The architect was abandoning his punctual habits; was never 
there at the proper time for his meals, arrived very red in the face, 
with a wild expression, and cursing business. Then he went off 
again every evening, on all kinds of pretexts, talking of appoint¬ 
ments at caf6s, inventing distant meetings. Octave, on these occa- 



POT-BOUILLE 


117 


sions, would often keep Rose company till eleven o’clock, for he had 
understood that the husband had him there to board to amuse his 
wife, and she would gently complain, and tell him her fears: ah! 
she left Achille very free, only she was so anxious when he came 
home after midnight! 

“ Do you not think he has been rather sad lately? ” asked she, in 
a tenderly frightened tone of voice. 

The young man had not noticed it. 

“ I think he is rather worried, perhaps. The works at Saint-Roch 
cause him some anxiety.” 

But she shook her head, without saying anything further about 
it. Then she was very kind to Octave, questioning him with a 
motherly and sisterly affection as to how he had employed the day. 
During nearly nine months that he had been boarding with them, 
she had always treated him thus as a child of the house. 

At length the architect appeared. 

“ Good evening, my pet; good evening, my duck,” said he, kiss¬ 
ing her with his doting air of a good husband. “ Another fool has 
been detaining me in the street! ” 

Octave moved away, and he heard them exchange a few words in 
a low voice. 

“ Will she come?” 

u No; what is the good? and, above all, do not worry yourself.” 

“ You declared to me that she would come.” 

11 Well! yes; she is coming. Are you pleased ? It is for your sake 
that I have done it.” 

They took their seats at the table. During the whole of dinner¬ 
time they talked of the English language, which little Angele had 
been learning for a fortnight past. 

They were taking their dessert, when a ring at the bell caused 
Madame Campardon to start. 

“ It is madame’s cousin,” Lisa returned and said, in the wounded 
tone of a servant whom one has omitted to let into a family secret. 

And it was indeed Gasparine who entered. She wore a black 
woolen dress, looking very quiet, with her thin face, and her air of 
a poor shop-girl. Rose, tenderly enveloped in her dressing-gown of 
cream-color silk, and plump and fresh, rose up so moved that tears 
filled her eyes. 

“ Ah! my dear,” murmured she, u you are good. We will forget 
everything; will we not ? ” 

She took her in her arms and gave her two hearty kisses. Octave 
discreetly wished to retire. But they grew angry: he could remain; 
he was one of the family. So he amused himself by looking on. 
Campardon, at first greatly embarrassed, turned his eyes away from 
the two women, puffing about, and looking for a cigar; whilst Lisa, 
who was roughly clearing the table, exchanged glances with surprised 
Angele. 

“ It is your cousin,” at length said the architect to his daughter. 
u You have heard us speak of her. Come, kiss her now.” 


118 


POT-BOUILLE 


She kissed her with her sullen air, troubled by the sort of governess 
glance with which Gasparine took stock of her, after asking some 
questions respecting her age and education. Then, when the others 
‘passed into the drawing-room, she preferred to follow Lisa, who 
slammed the door, saying, without even fearing that she might be 
heard: 

“ Ah, well! it’ll become precious funny here now!” 

In the drawing-room, Campardon, still restless, began to excuse 
himself. 

“ On my word of honor! the happy idea was not mine. It is Rose 
who wished to be reconciled. Every morning, for more than a week 
past, she has been saying to me: 1 Now, go and fetch her. 7 So I 
ended by fetching you. 77 

And, as though he had felt the necessity of convincing Octave, 
he took him up to the window. 

“ Well! women are women. It bothered me, because I have a 
dread of rows. One on the right, the other on the left, there was 
no squabbling possible. But I had to give in. Rose says we shall 
be far happier thus. Anyhow, we will try. It depends on these 
two, now, to make my life comfortable. 77 

Meanwhile Rose and Gasparine had seated themselves side by 
side on the sofa. They were talking of the past, of the days lived 
at Plassans, with good papa Domergue. 

“ And your health? 77 asked she, in a low voice. “ Achille spoke 
to me about it. Is it no better ? 77 

“No, no, 77 replied Rose, in a melancholy tone. “You see, I 
eat ; I look very well. But it gets no better; it will never get any 
better. 77 

As she began to cry, Gasparine, in her turn, took her in her arms 
and pressed her against her flat and ardent breast, whilst Campardon 
hastened to console them. 

“ Why do you cry? 77 asked she maternally. “ The main thing is 
that you do not suffer. What does it matter if you have always 
people about you to love you? 77 

Rose was becoming calmer, and already smiling amidst her tears. 
Then the architect, carried away by his feelings, clasped them both 
in the same embrace, kissing them alternately, and stammering: 

“ Yes, yes, we will love each other very much, we will love you 
such a deal, my poor little duck. You will see how well everything 
will go, now that we are united. 77 

And, turning toward Octave, he added: 

“ Ah! my dear fellow, people may talk, there is nothing, after all, 
like family ties ! 77 

The end of the evening was delightful. Campardon, who usually 
fell asleep on leaving the table if he remained at home, recovered 
all his artist’s gayety, the old jokes and the broad songs of the 
School of Fine Arts. When, toward eleven o’clock, Gasparine 
prepared to leave, Rose insisted on accompanying her to the door, in 
spite of the difficulty she experienced in walking that day: and, 


POT-BOUILLE 


119 


leaning over the balustrade, in the grave silence of the staircase, 
she called after her: 

“ Come and see us often! ” 

On the morrow, Octave, feeling interested, tried to make the 
cousin talk at “ The Ladies’ Paradise,” whilst they were receiving 
a consignment of linen goods together. But she answered curtly, 
and he felt that she was hostile, annoyed at his having been a wit¬ 
ness the evening before. Moreover, she did not like him; she even 
displayed a sort of rancor toward him in their business relations. 

Octave had given himself six months, and, though scarcely four 
had passed, he was becoming impatient. Every morning he asked 
himself whether he should not hurry matters forward, seeing the 
little progress he had made in the affections of this woman, always 
so icy and gentle. She had ended, however, by showing a real 
esteem for him, won over by his enlarged ideas, his dreams of vast 
modern warehouses discharging millions of merchandise into the 
streets of Paris. Often, when her husband was not there, and she 
opened the correspondence with the young man of a morning, she 
would detain him beside her and consult him, profiting a great deal 
by his advice, and a sort of commercial intimacy was thus gradually 
established between them. Their hands met amidst bundles of 
invoices, their breaths mingled as they added up columns of figures, 
and they yielded to moments of emotion before the open cash-box 
after some extra fortunate receipts. He even took advantage of 
these occasions, his tactics being now to reach her heart through 
her good trader’s nature, and to conquer her on a day of weakness, 
in the midst of the great emotion occasioned by some unexpected 
sale. So he remained on the watch for some surprising occurrence 
which should deliver her up to him. 

About this time, Monsieur Hedouin, having fallen ill, went to pass 
a season at Yichy to take the waters. Octave, to speak frankly, 
was delighted. Though as cold as marble, Madame Hedouin would 
become more tender-hearted during her enforced widowhood. But 
he fruitlessly awaited a quiver, a languidness of desire. Never had 
she been so active, her head so free, her eye so clear. 

At heart, though, the young man did not despair. At times he 
thought he had reached the goal, and was already arranging his 
mode of living for the near day when he would be the lover of his 
employer’s wife. He had kept up his connection with Marie to help 
him to wait patiently; only, though she was convenient and cost 
him nothing, she might perhaps one day become irksome, with her 
faithfulness of a beaten cur. Therefore, at the same time that he 
took her in his arms on the nights when he felt dull, he would be 
thinking of a way of breaking off with her. To do so abruptly 
seemed to him to be worse than foolish. One holiday morning, when 
about to rejoin his neighbor’s wife, the neighbor himself having 
gone out early, the idea had at length come to him of restoring 
Marie to Jules, of sending them in a loving way into each other’s 
arms, so that he might withdraw with a clear conscience. It was, 


120 


POT-BOUILLE 


moreover, a good action, the touching side of which relieved him of 
all remorse. He waited a while, however, not wishing to find him¬ 
self without a female companion of some kind. 

At the Campardons’ another complication was occupying Octave’s 
mind. He felt that the moment was arriving when he would have 
to take his meals elsewhere. For three weeks past Gasparine had 
been making herself quite at home there, with an authority daily 
increasing. At first she had begun by coming every evening; then 
she had appeared at lunch: and, in spite of her work at the shop, 
she was commencing to take charge of everything, of Angle’s edu¬ 
cation, and of the household affairs. Rose was ever repeating in 
Campardon’s presence: 

“ Ah! if Gasparine only lived with us! ” 

But each time the architect, blushing with conscientious scruples, 
and tormented with shame, cried out: 

“ No, no; it cannot be. Besides, where would you put her to 
sleep ? ” 

And he explained that they would have to give his study as a bed¬ 
room to their cousin, whilst he would move his table and plans into 
the drawing-room. It would certainly not inconvenience him in the 
least; he would, perhaps, decide to make the alteration one day, 
for he had no need of a drawing-room, and his study was becoming 
too cramped for all the work he had in hand. Only, Gasparine 
might very well remain as she was. What need was there to live 
all in a heap ? 

“ When one is comfortable,” repeated he to Octave, “ it is a mis¬ 
take to wish to be better. ” 

About that time he was obliged to go and spend two days at 
Evreux. He was worried about the work in hand at the bishop’s 
palace. He had yielded to the bishop’s desires without a credit 
having been opened for the purpose, and the construction of the 
range for the new kitchens and of the heating apparatus threatened 
to amount to a very large figure, which it would be impossible to 
include in the cost of repairs. Besides that, the pulpit, for which 
three thousand francs had been granted, would come to ten thousand 
at least. He wished to talk the matter over with the bishop, so as 
to take certain precautions. 

Rose was only expecting him to return on the Sunday night. He 
arrived in the middle of lunch, and his sudden entrance caused quite 
a scare. Gasparine was seated at the table, between Octave and 
Aug^le. They pretended to be all at their ease; but there reigned 
a certain air of mystery. Lisa had closed the drawing-room door 
at a despairing gesture from her mistress, whilst the cousin kicked 
beneath the furniture some pieces of paper that were lying about. 

When Campardon talked of changing his things, they stopped 
him. 

“ Wait a while. Have acup of coffee, as you lunched at Evreux. ” 

At length, as he noticed Rose’s embarrassment, she went and threw 
her arms around his neck. 


POT-BOUILLE 


121 


11 My dear, you must not scold, me. If you had not returned till 
this evening, you would have found everything straight. ” 

She tremblingly opened the doors, and took him into the drawing¬ 
room and the study. A mahogany bedstead, brought that morning 
by a furniture dealer, occupied the place of the drawing-table, which 
had been moved into the middle of the adjoining room; but as yet 
nothing had been put straight; portfolios were knocking about 
amongst some of Gasparine’s clothes; the Virgin with the Bleeding 
Heart was lying against the wall, kept in position by a new wash- 
stand. 

“ It was a surprise ,’ 7 murmured Madame Campardon, her heart 
bursting, as she hid her face in her husband’s waistcoat. 

He, deeply moved, looked about him. He said nothing, and 
avoided encountering Octave’s eyes. Then, Gasparine asked, in her 
sharp voice: 

11 Does it annoy you, cousin? It is Rose who pestered me. But, 
if you think I am in the way, it is not too late for me to leave. ” 

“ Oh! cousih! ” at length exclaimed the architect. “ All that 
Rose does is well done. ” 

And, the latter having burst out sobbing on his breast, he added: 

“ Come, my duck, how foolish of you to cry! I am very pleased. 
You wish to have your cousin with you; well! have your cousin 
with you. Everything suits me. Now, do not cry any more! See ! 
I kiss you like I love you, so much ! so much! ” 

He devoured her with caresses. Then, Rose, who melted into 
tears for a word, but who smiled at once, in the midst of her sobs, 
was consoled. She kissed him in her turn, on his beard, saying to 
him, gently: 

“ You were harsh. Kiss her also. ” 

Campardon kissed Gasparine. They called Angele, who had 
been looking on from the dining-room, her eyes bright and her 
mouth wide open; and she had to kiss her also. Octave had moved 
away, having arrived at the conclusion that they were becoming 
far too loving in that family. He had noticed with surprise Lisa’s 
respectful attitude and smiling attentiveness toward Gasparine. 
She was decidedly an intelligent girl, that hussy with the blue eye¬ 
lids ! 

Meanwhile, the architect had taken off his coat, and whistling and 
singing, as lively as a boy, he spent the afternoon in arranging the 
cousin’s room. Then Octave understood that his presence interfered 
with the free expansion of their hearts; he felt he was one too many in 
such a united family, so mentioned that he was going to dine out 
that evening. Moreover, he had made up his mind; on the 
morrow he would thank Madame Campardon for her kind hospi¬ 
tality, and invent some story for no longer trespassing upon it. 

Toward five o’clock, as he was regretting that he did not know 
where to find Trublot, he had the idea to go and ask the Pichonsfor 
some dinner, so as not to pass the evening alone. But, on entering 
their apartments, he found himself in the midst of a deplorable 


122 


POT-BOUILLE 


family scene. The Vuillaumes were there, trembling with rage and 
indignation. 

“ It is disgraceful, sir! ” the mother was saying, standing up with 
her arm thrust out toward her son-in-law, who was sitting in a 
chair in a state of collapse. “ You gave me your word of honor. ” 

“ And you, ” added the father, causing his daughter to draw back 
trembling as far as the sideboard, “ do not try to defend him, you 
are quite as guilty. Do you wish to die of hunger! ” 

Madame Vuillaume had put on her bonnet and shawl again. 

“ Good-bye! ” uttered she, in a solemn tone. “ We will at least 
not encourage your dissoluteness by our presence. As you no 
longer pay the least attention to our wishes, we have nothing to 
detain us here. Good-bye! ” 

And, as through force of habit her son-in-law rose to accompany 
them, she added: 

u Do not trouble yourself, we £hall be able to find the omnibus 
very well without you. Pass first, Monsieur Vuillaume. Let them 
eat their dinner, and much good may it do them, for they won’t 
always have one! ” 

Octave, thoroughly bewildered, drew on one side. When they 
had gone, he looked at Jules, who was still in a state of collapse on 
his chair, and at Marie leaning against the sideboard and looking 
very pale. Neither of them said a word. 

“ What is the matter? ” asked he. 

But, without answering him, the young woman commenced scold¬ 
ing her husband in a doleful voice. 

“ I told you how it would be. You should have waited, and let 
them learn the thing by degrees. There was no hurry, it does not 
show as yet. ” 

“ What is the matter ? ” repeated Octave. 

Then, without even turning her head, she said bluntly, in the 
midst of her emotion! 

“ I am in the family way.” 

“ I have had enough of them! ” cried Jules, rising indignantly. 
“ I thought it right to tell them at once of this bother. I wonder 
if they think it amuses me! Iam more taken in by it all than they 
are. More especially, by Jove ! as it is through no fault of mine. 
Is it not true, Marie, that we have no idea how it has come 
about ? ” 

“ That is so, indeed, ” affirmed the young woman. 

It quite affected Octave; and he felt a violent desire to do some¬ 
thing nice for the Pichons. Jules continued to grumble: they would 
receive the child all the same, only it would have done better 
to have remained where it was. On her side, Marie, gen¬ 
erally so gentle, became angry, and ended by agreeing with her 
mother, who never forgave disobedience. And the couple were com¬ 
ing to a quarrel, throwing the youngster from one to the other, 
accusing each other of being the cause of it, when Octave gayly 
interfered. 


POT-BOUILLE 


123 


11 It is no use quarreling, now that it is there. Come, we won't 
dine here; it would be too sad. I will take you to a restaurant, if 
you are agreeable. " 

The young woman blushed. Dining at a restaurant was her delight. 
She spoke, however, of her little girl, who invariably prevented 
her from having any pleasure. But it was decided that, for this 
once, Lilitte should go too. And they spent a very pleasant even¬ 
ing. Octave took them to the “ Boeuf h la Mode, " where they had a 
private room, to be more at their ease, as he said. There, he over¬ 
whelmed them with food, with an earnest prodigality, without think¬ 
ing of the bill, happy at seeing them eat. He even, at dessert, when 
they had laid Lilitte down between two of the sofa cushions, called 
for champagne ; and they sat there, their elbows on the table, their 
eyes dim, all three full of heart, and feeling languid from the suffo¬ 
cating heat of the room. At length, at eleven o'clock, they talked 
of going home; but they were red, and the fresh air of the street 
intoxicated them. Then, as the child, heavy with sleep, refused to 
walk, Octave, to do things handsomely until the end, insisted on 
hailing a cab, though the Rue de Choiseul was close by. In the cab, 
he was scrupulous to the point of not pressing Marie's knees. Only, 
upstairs, whilst Jules was tucking Lilitte in, he imprinted a kiss on 
the young woman's forehead, the farewell kiss of a father parting 
with his daughter to a son-in-law. Then, seeing them very loving 
and looking at each other in a drunken sort of way, he left them to 
themselves, wishing them a good-night and many pleasant dreams 
as he closed the door. 

“ Well! " thought he, as he jumped all alone into bed, “it has 
cost me fifty francs, but I owed them quite that. After all, my 
only wish is that her husband may make her happy, poor little 
woman! " 

And, with his heart full of emotion, he resolved, before falling 
asleep, to make his grand attempt on the following evening. 

Every Monday, after dinner, Octave assisted Madame Hedouin to 
examine the orders of the week. For this purpose they both with¬ 
drew to the little closet at the back, a narrow apartment which 
merely contained a safe, a desk, two chairs and a sofa. But it so 
happened that on the Monday in question the Duveyriers were going 
to take Madame Hedouin to the Opera-Comique. So, toward three 
o'clock, she sent for the young man. In spite of the bright sun¬ 
shine, they were obliged to burn the gas, for the closet only received 
a pale light from an inner courtyard. He bolted the door, and, as 
she looked at him in surprise, he murmured: 

“ No one can come and disturb us." 

She nodded her head approvingly, and they set to work. The 
new summer goods were going splendidly, the business of the house 
continued increasing. That week especially the sale of the little 
woolens seemed so promising that she heaved a sigh. 

“ Ah! if we only had enough room! " 

“ But," said he, commencing the attack, “ it depends upon your- 


124 


POT-BOUILLE 


self. I have had an idea for some time past, which I wish to lay 
before yon. ” 

It was the stroke of audacity he had been waiting for. His idea 
was to purchase the adjoining house in the Rue Neuve-Saint- 
Augustin, to give notice to an umbrella-dealer and to a toy-mer¬ 
chant, and then to enlarge the warehouses, to which they could add 
several other vast departments. And he warmed up as he spoke, 
showing himself full of disdain for the old way of doing business in 
the depths of damp, dark shops, without any display, evoking a new 
commerce with a gesture, piling up in palaces of crystal all the 
luxury pertaining to woman, turning over millions in the light of 
day, and illuminating at night-time in a princely style. 

“ You will crush the other drapers of the Saint-Roch neighbor¬ 
hood,” said he; “ you will secure all the small customers.” 

Madame Hedouin listened to him, her elbow on a ledger, her 
beautiful, grave head buried in heT hand. She was born at “ The 
Ladies’ Paradise, ” which had been founded by her father and her 
uncle. She loved the house; she could see it expanding, swallow¬ 
ing up the neighboring houses, and displaying a royal frontage, and 
this dream suited her active intelligence, her upright will, her 
woman’s delicate intuition of the new Paris. 

“ Uncle Deleuze would never give his consent, ” murmured she. 
“ Besides, my husband is too unwell.” 

Then, seeing her wavering, Octave assumed his most seductive 
voice — an actor’s voice, soft and musical. At the same time he 
looked tenderly at her, with his eyes the color of old gold, which 
some women thought irresistible. But, though the gas-jet flared 
close to the nape of her neck, she remained as cool as ever; she 
merely fell into a revery, half stunned by the young man’s inex¬ 
haustible flow of words. He had come to studying the affair from 
the money point of view, already making an estimate with the impas¬ 
sioned air of a romantic page declaring a long pent up ldve. When 
she suddenly awoke from her reflections, she found herself in his 
arms. He was thinking that she was at length yielding. 

“ Dear me! so this is what it all meant! ” said she in a sad tone 
of voice, freeing herself from him as from some tiresome child. 

“ Well! yes, I love you,” cried he. “ Oh! do not repel me. With 
you I will do great things-” 

And he went on thus to the end of the tirade, which had a false 
ring about it. She did not interrupt him; she was standing up and 
again scanning the pages of the ledger. Then, when he had finished, 
she replied: 

“ I know all that — I have already heard it before. But I thought 
you were more sensible than the others, Monsieur Octave. You 
grieve me, really you do, for I had counted upon you. However, 
all young men are foolish. We need a great deal of order in such a 
house as this, and you begin by desiring things which would disturb 
us from morning to night. I am not a woman here, I have too much 
to occupy me. Come, you who are so well organized, how is it 


POT-BOUILLE 


125 


you did not comprehend that it could never be, because in the first 
place it is stupid, in the second useless, and, moreover, luckily for 
me, I do not care the least about it! ” 

He would have preferred her to have been indignantly angry, 
displaying grand sentiments. Her calm tone of voice, her quiet 
reasoning of a practical woman, sure of herself, disconcerted him. 
He felt himself becoming ridiculous. 

“Have pity, madame,” stammered he, before losing all hope. 
“ See how I suffer.” 

“No, you do not suffer. Anyhow, you will get over it. Hark! 
there is some one knocking; you would do better to open the door. ” 

Then he had to draw the bolt. It was Mademoiselle Gasparine, 
who wished to know if any lace-trimmed chemises were expected. 
The bolted door had surprised her. But she knew Madame Hedouin 
too well; and, when she saw her with her cold air standing in front 
of Octave, who was full of uneasiness, a slight mocking smile played 
about her lips as she looked at him. It exasperated him, and in his 
own mind he accused her of having been the cause of his ill-success. 

“ Madame,” declared he, abruptly, when Gasparine had withdrawn, 
“ I leave your employment this evening. ” 

This was a surprise for Madame Hedouin. She looked at him. 

“ Why so f I do not discharge you. Oh! it will not make any 
difference; I have no fear.” 

These words decided him. He would leave at once; he would not 
endure his martyrdom a minute longer. 

“ Very good, Monsieur Octave,” resumed she as serenely as ever. 
“ I will settle with you directly. However, the firm will regret you, 
for you were a good assistant. ” 

Once Out in the street, Octave perceived that he had behaved like 
a fool. Four o’clock was striking, the gay spring sun covered with 
a sheet of gold a whole corner of the Place Gaillon. And, angry 
with himself, he wandered at hap-hazard down the Hue Saint-Roch, 
discussing the way in which he ought to have acted. He would go 
and see if Campardon happened to be in the church, and take him 
to the cafe to have a glass of Madeira. It would help to divert his 
thoughts. He entered by the vestibule into which the vestry door 
opened, a dark, dirty passage such as is to be met with in houses of 
ill-repute. 

“ You are perhaps looking for Monsieur Campardon ? ” said a 
voice close beside him, as he stood hesitating, scrutinizing the nave 
with his glance. 

It was the Abbe Mauduit, who had just recognized him. The 
architect being away, he insisted on showing the works, about which 
he was most enthusiastic, to the young man. 

“Walk in,” said the Abb6 Mauduit, gathering up his cassock. 
“ I will explain everything to you. ” 

“ Here we are,” continued the priest. “ I had the idea of light¬ 
ing the central group of the Calvary from above by means of an 
opening in the cupola. You can fancy what an effect it will have. ” 


126 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Yes, yes, ” murmured Octave, whose thoughts were diverted by 
this stroll amidst building materials. 

The Abbe Mauduit, speaking in a loud voice, had the air of a 
stage-carpenter directing the placing of some gorgeous scenery. 

And he turned round to call out to a workman: 

“Move the Virgin on one side; you will be breaking her leg 
directly.” 

The workman called a comrade. Between them they got hold of 
the Virgin round the small of her back, and carried her to a place 
of safety, like some tall white girl who had fallen down under a 
nervous attack. 

“ Be careful! ” repeated the priest, following them through the 
rubbish, “ her dress is already cracked. Wait a while! ” 

He gave them a hand, seizing Mary round the waist, and then, 
all covered with plaster, withdrew from the embrace. 

“Then,” resumed he, returning to Octave, “just imagine that 
the two bays of the nave there before us are open, and go and stand 
in the chapel of the Virgin. Over the altar, and through the chapel 
of Perpetual Adoration, you will behold the Calvary right at the 
back. Just fancy the effect: these three enormous figures, this 
bare and simple drama in this tabernacle recess, beyond the dim, 
mysterious light of the stained-glass windows, the lamps and the 
gold candelabra. Eh ? I think it will be irresistible! ” 

He was waxing eloquent, and, proud of his idea, he laughed joy¬ 
fully. 

“ The most skeptical will be moved, ” observed Octave, to please 
him. 

“That is what I think!” cried he. “I am impatient to see 
everything in place. ” 

“ I am going to see Monsier Campardon this evening,” at length 
said the Abbe Mauduit. “ Ask him to wait in for me. I wish to 
speak to him about an improvement without being disturbed. ” 

And he bowed with his worldly air. Octave was calmed now. 
Saint-Roch, with its cool vaults, had unbraced his nerves. He 
looked curiously at this entrance to a church through a private 
house, at the doorkeeper’s room, from whence at night time the door 
was often opened for the cause of the faith, at all that corner of a 
convent lost amidst the black conglomeration of the neighborhood. 
Out in the street, he again raised his eyes; the house displayed its 
bare frontage, with its barred and curtainless windows; but boxes 
of flowers were fixed by iron supports to the windows of the fourth 
floor; and, down below, in the thick walls, were narrow shops, 
which helped to fill the coffers of the clergy — a cobbler’s, a clock- 
maker’s, an embroiderer’s, and even a wine shop, where the mutes 
congregated whenever there was a funeral. Octave, who, from his 
rebuff, was in a mood to renounce the world, regretted the quiet 
lives which the priests’ servants led up there in those rooms enliv¬ 
ened with verbenas and sweet peas. 

That evening, at half past six, as he entered the Campardons’ 



POT-BOUILLE 


127 


apartments without ringing, he came suddenly upon the architect 
and G-asparine kissing each other in the ante-room. The latter, 
who had just come from the warehouse, had not even given herself 
time to close the door. Both stood stock-still. 

“ My wife is combing her hair,” stammered the architect, for the 
sake of saying something. “ Go in and see her.” 

Octave, feeling as embarrassed as themselves, hastened to knock 
at the door of Rose’s room, where he usually entered like a relation. 
He really could no longer continue to board there, now that he 
caught them behind the doors. 

“Come in!” cried Rose’s voice. “So it is you, Octave. Oh! 
there is no harm. ” 

She had not, however, donned her dressing-gown, and her arms 
and shoulders, as white and delicate as milk, were bare. Sitting 
attentively before the looking-glass, she was rolling her golden hair 
in little curls. 

“ So you are making yourself beautiful again to-night, ” said 
Octave, smiling. 

“Yes, for it is the only amusement I have, ” replied she. “It 
occupies me. You know I have never been a good housewife; and, 
now that Gasparine will be here — Eh ? don’t you think that curl 
suits me? It consoles me a little when I am well dressed and I feel 
that I look pretty. ” 

As the dinner was not ready, he told her of his having left “ The 
Ladies’ Paradise.” He invented a story about some other situation 
he had long been on the look-out for; and thus reserved to himself 
a pretext for explaining his intention of taking his meals elsewhere. 
She was surprised that he could give up a berth which held out 
great promises for the future. But she was busy at her glass, and 
did not catch all he said. 

“ Look at this red place behind my ear. Is it a pimple ? ” 

He had to examine the nape of her neck, which she held toward 
him with her grand tranquillity of a sacred woman. 

“ It is nothing, ” said he. “You must have dried yourself too 
roughly.” 

And, when he had assisted her to put on her dressing-gown of 
blue satin embroidered with silver, they passed into the dining¬ 
room. As early as the soup, Octave’s departure from the Hedouins’ 
was discussed. Campardon did not repress his surprise, whilst 
Gasparine smiled faintly; they were quite at their ease together. 

At dessert Gasparine sharply rated Lisa, who had answered her 
mistress rudely respecting a piece of cheese that was missing. The 
maid became very humble. Gasparine had already taken the 
household arrangements in hand, and had mastered the servants; 
with a word, she could make Victoire herself quake amongst her 
saucepans. So that Rose looked at her gratefully with moist eyes; 
she was respected, now that her cousin was there, and her longing 
was to get her also to leave “The Ladies’ Paradise,” and take 
charge of Angle’s education. 


128 


POT-BOUILLE 


11 Come,” murmured she, caressingly, u there is quite enough to 
occupy you here. Angele, implore your cousin, tell her how pleased 
you will be. ” 

The young girl implored her cousin, whilst Lisa nodded her head 
approvingly. But Campardon and Gasparine remained grave; no, 
no, they must wait, one should not take a leap in life without hav¬ 
ing something to hold on to. 

The evenings in the drawing-room were now delightful. The 
architect had altogether given up going out. That evening he had 
arranged to hang some engravings, which had come back from the 
framer, in Gasparine’s room. Then Octave, finding himself alone 
with Rose, resumed his story, and explained that at the end of the 
month he would be obliged to take his meals away from them. She 
seemed surprised, but her thoughts were elsewhere; she returned 
at once to her husband and her cousin, whom she heard laughing. 

“ Ah! how it amuses them to hang those pictures ! What would 
you have! Achille no longer stays out; for a fortnight past he 
has not left me of an evening. No, no more going to the cafe, no 
more business meetings, no more appointments; and you remember 
how anxious I used to be, when he was out after midnight! Ah! 
it is a great ease to my mind now! T at least have him by me. ” 

“ No doubt, no doubt,” murmured Octave. 

And she continued speaking of the economy of the new arrange¬ 
ment. Everything went on better in the house, they laughed from 
morning to night. 

“ When I see Achille pleased,” resumed she, “ I am satisfied.” 

Then, returning to the young man’s affairs, she added: 

“ So you are really going to leave us t You should stay, though, 
as we are all going to be so happy.” 

He recommenced his explanations. She comprehended, and low¬ 
ered her eyes: the young fellow would indeed interfere with their 
family effusions, and she herself felt a certain relief at his departure, 
no longer requiring him, moreover, to keep her company of an even¬ 
ing. He had to promise to come and see her very often. 

“ There you are, Mignon, supplicating Heaven! ” cried Campardon 
joyously. “ Wait a moment, cousin; I will help you down. ” 

They heard him take her in his arms and place her somewhere. 
There was a short silence, and then a faint laugh. But the archi¬ 
tect was already entering the drawing-room; and he held his hot 
cheek to his wife. 

“ It is done, my duck. Kiss your old pet for working so well.” 

But the architect suddenly became virtuously indignant. He had 
just noticed that, instead of studying her Scripture history, the child 
was reading the “ Gazette de France,” lying on the table. 

“ Angele,” said he, severely, “ what are you doing? This morn¬ 
ing, I crossed out that article with a red pencil. You know very 
well that you are not to read what is crossed out. ” 

“ I was reading beside it, papa,” replied the young girl. 

All the same, he took the paper away from her, complaining in 


POT-BOUILLE 


129 


low tones to Octave of the demoralization of the press. That num¬ 
ber contained the report of another abominable crime. If families 
could no longer admit the “ Gazette de France,” then what paper 
could they take in ? And he was raising his eyes to heaven, when 
Lisa announced the Abbe Mauduit. 

“ Ah! yes,” observed Octave, “ he asked me to tell you he was 
coming.” 

The priest entered smiling. As the architect had forgotten to 
take off his paper cross, he stammered in the presence of that smile. 
The Abbe Mauduit happened to be the person whose name was kept 
a secret and who had the matter in hand. 

“ The ladies did it, ” murmured Campardon, preparing to take 
the cross off. “ They are so fond of a joke.” 

“ No, no, keep it,” exclaimed the priest, very amiably. “ It is 
well where it is, and we will replace it by a more substantial one. ” 

He at once asked after Rose’s health, and greatly approved Gas- 
parine’s coming to live with one of her relations. Single young 
ladies ran so many risks in Paris! He said these things with all his 
good priest’s unction, though fully aware of the real state of affairs. 

When the Abbe Mauduit appeared, Octave had wished the Cam- 
pardons good evening. As he crossed the ante-room, he heard 
Angele’s voice in the now dark dining-room, she having also made 
her escape. 

“ Was it about the butter that she was kicking up such a row? ” 
asked she. 

“ Of course,” answered another voice, which was Lisa’s. “ She’s 
as spiteful as can be. You saw how she went on at me at dinner 
time. But I don’t care a fig! One must pretend to obey, with a 
person of that sort, but that doesn’t prevent our amusing ourselves 
all the same ! ” 

Then, Ang&le must have thrown her arms round Lisa’s neck, for 
her voice was drowned in the servant’s bosom. 

“Yes, yes. And, afterward, so much the worse! it’s you I 
love! ” 

Octave was going up to bed, when a desire for fresh air brought 
him down again. It was not more than ten o’clock, he would stroll 
as far as the Palais-Royal. Now, he was single again: both Valerie 
and Madame Hedouin had declined to have anything to do with his 
heart, and he had been too hasty in restoring Marie to Jules, the 
only woman he had succeeded in conquering, and without having 
done anything for it. 

As he was placing his foot on the pavement, a woman’s voice 
called to him; and he recognized Berthe at the door of the silk 
warehouse, the shutters of which were being put up by the porter. 

“ Is it true, Monsieur Mouret ? ” asked she, “ have you really left 
‘The Ladies’ Paradise ?’ ” 

He was surprised that it was already known in the neighborhood. 

Pot-Bouille 9 


130 


POT-BOUILLE 


The young woman had called her husband. As he intended speak¬ 
ing to Monsieur Mouret on the morrow, he might just as well do so 
then. And Auguste abruptly offered Octave in a sour way a berth 
in his employ. The young man, taken unawares, hesitated and was 
on the point of refusing, thinking of the small importance of the 
house. But he caught sight of Berthe’s pretty face, as she smiled 
at him with her air of welcome, with the gay glance he had already 
twice encountered, on the day of his arrival and the day of the 
wedding. 

“Well! yes,” said he resolutely. 


CHAPTER X. 

Then, Octave found himself brought into closer contact with the 
Duveyriers. Often, when Madame Duveyrier returned from a walk, 
she would come through her brother’s shop, and stop to talk a 
minute with Berthe; and, the first time that she saw the young man 
behind one of the counters, she amiably reproached him for not 
keeping his word, reminding him of his long-standing promise 
to come and see her one evening, and try his voice at the piano. 
She wished to give a second performance of the “ Benediction of 
the Daggers, ” at one of her first Saturdays at home of the coming 
winter, but with two extra tenors, something very complete. 

“ If it does not interfere with your arrangements, ” said Berthe 
one day to Octave, “ you might go up to my sister-in-law’s after 
dinner. She is expecting you. ” 

She maintained toward him the attitude of a mistress, simply 
polite. 

“ The fact is,” he observed, “ I intended arranging these shelves 
this evening. ” 

“ Do not trouble about them,” resumed she, “ there are plenty of 
people here to do that. I give you your evening. ” 

Toward nine o’clock, Octave found Madame Duveyrier awaiting 
him in her grand white and gold drawing-room. Everything was 
ready, the piano open, the candles lit. A lamp placed on a small 
round table beside the instrument only imperfectly lighted the room, 
one half of which remained in shadow. Seeing the young woman 
alone, he thought it proper to ask after Monsieur Duveyrier. She 
replied that he was very well; his colleagues had selected him to 
report on a very grave affair, and he had just gone out to obtain 
certain information respecting it. 

“You know; the affair of the Rue de Provence,” said she 
simply. 

“ Ah! he has that in hand! ” exclaimed Octave. 

It was a scandal which was the talk of all Paris, quite a clandes- 



POT-BOUILLE 


131 


tine prostitution, young girls of fourteen procured for high person¬ 
ages. Clotilde added: 

“ Yes, it gives him a great deal of work. For a fortnight past all 
of his evenings have been taken up with it. ” 

“No doubt! for he too has the cure of souls,” murmured he, 
embarrassed by her clear glance. 

“Well! sir, shall we begin? ” resumed she. “You will excuse 
my importunity, will you not ? And open your lungs, display all 
your powers, as Monsieur Duveyrier is not here. You, perhaps, 
heard him boast that he did not like music. ” 

She put such contempt into the words, that he thought it right to 
risk a faint laugh. Moreover, it was the sole bitter feeling which at 
times escaped her before other people with respect to her husband, 
when exasperated by his jokes on her piano, she who was strong 
enough to hide the hatred and the physical repulsion with which he 
inspired her. 

“ How can one help liking music? ” remarked Octave with an air 
of ecstasy, so as to make himself agreeable. 

Then she seated herself on the music-stool. A collection of old 
tunes was open on the piano. She had already selected an air out 
of “ Zemire and Azor,” by Gretry. As the young man could only 
just manage to read his notes, she made him go through it first in 
a low voice. Then she played the prelude, and he sang the first verse. 

“ Perfect!” cried she with delight, “a tenor, there is not the 
least doubt of it, a tenor! Pray continue, sir.” 

Octave, feeling highly flattered, gave out the two other verses. 
She was beaming. For three years past she had been seeking for 
one! And she told him of all her vexations, Monsieur Trublot, for 
instance; for it was a fact, the causes of which were worth studying, 
that there were no longer any tenors among the young men of 
society: no doubt it was owing to tobacco. 

“ Be careful, now!” resumed she, “ we must put some expression 
into it. Begin it boldly. ” 

Her cold face assumed a languid expression, her eyes turned 
toward him with an expiring air. Thinking that she was warming, 
he became more animated also, and considered her charming. 

“ You,will get along very well,” said she. “ Only, accentuate the 
time more. See, like this. ” 

And she herself sang, repeating quite twenty times: “ More 
trembling than you, ” bringing out the notes with the rigor of a 
sinless woman, whose passion for music was not more than skin 
deep in her mechanism. Her voice rose little by little, filling the 
room with shrill cries, when they both suddenly heard some one 
exclaiming loudly behind their backs: 

“Madame! madame!” 

She started, and, recognizing her maid Clemence, exclaimed: 

“Eh? what?” 

“ Madame, your father has fallen with his face in his papers, and 
he doesn’t move. We are so frightened.” 


132 


POT-BOUILLE 


Then, without exactly understanding, and greatly surprised, she 
quitted the piano and followed Clemence. Octave, who was 
uncertain whether to accompany her, remained walking about the 
drawing-room. However, after a few minutes of hesitation and 
embarrassment, as he heard people rushing about and calling out 
distractedly, he made up his mind, and, crossing a room that was in 
darkness, he found himself in Monsieur Vabre’s bedchamber. 

“ He is in a fit,” said Octave. “ He must not be left there. We 
must get him onto his bed. ” 

But Madame Duveyrier was losing her head. Emotion was little 
by little seizing upon her cold nature. She kept repeating: 

“ Do you think so? do you think so? 0 good heavens! 0 my 
poor father!” 

Hippolyte, a prey to an uneasy feeling, to a visible repugnance 
to touch the old man, who might go off in his arms, did not hurry 
himself. Octave had to call to him to help. Between them they 
laid him on the bed. 

“ Bring some warm water!” resumed the young man, addressing 
Julie. “ Wipe his face.” 

Now, Clotilde became angry with her husband. Ought he to have 
been away ? What would become of her if anything happened ? 

“To leave me alone like this!” continued Clotilde. “I don’t 
know, but there must be all sorts of affairs to settle. 0 my poor 
father! ” 

“ Would you like me to inform the other members of the family?” 
asked Octave. “ I can fetch your brothers. It would be prudent. ” 

She did not answer. Two big tears swelled her eyes, whilst Julie 
and Clemence tried to undress the old man. 

“Madame,” observed Clemence, “one side of him is already 
quite cold.” 

This increased Madame Duveyrier’s anger. She no longer spoke, 
for fear of saying too much before the servants. Her husband did 
not, apparently, care a button for their interests! Had she only 
been acquainted with the law ! And she could not remain still; she 
kept walking up and down before the bed. Octave, whose attention 
was diverted by the sight of the tickets, looked at the formidable 
apparatus which covered the table; it was a big oak box, filled with 
a series of cardboard tickets, scrupulously sorted, the stupid work 
of a lifetime. Just as he was reading on one of these tickets: 
Ul Isidore Ckarbotel;’ Exhibition of 1857, ‘Atalanta;’ Exhibition 
of 1859, ‘The Lion of Androcles;’ Exhibition of 1861, ‘Portrait of 

Monsieur P-,’” Clotilde went and stood before him and said 

resolutely, in a low voice: 

“ Go and fetch him.” 

And, as he evinced his surprise, she seemed, with a shrug of her 
shoulders, to cast off the story about the report of the affair of the 
Rue de Provence, one of those eternal pretexts which she invented 
for her acquaintances. She let out everything in her emotion. 

“ You know, Rue de la Cerisaie. All our friends know it.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


133 


He wished to protest. 

“ I assure you, madame-” 

“ Do not stand up for him! ” resumed she. “ I am only too 
pleased; he can stay there. Ah! good heavens! if it were not for 
my poor father! ” 

Octave bowed. Julie was wiping Monsieur Yabre’s eye with the 
corner of a towel; but the ink had dried, and the smudge remained 
in the skin, which was marked with livid streaks. Madame Duvey- 
rier told her not to rub so hard; then she returned to the young 
man, who was already, at the door. 

“ Not a word to any one,” murmured she. “It is needless to 
upset the house. Take a cab, call there, and bring him back in 
spite of everything.” 

When he had gone, she sank onto a chair beside the patient’s 
pillow. He had not recovered consciousness ; his breathing alone, 
a deep and painful breathing, troubled the mournful silence of the 
chamber. Then, the doctor not arriving, finding herself alone with 
the two servants, who stood by with frightened looks, she burst out 
into a terrible fit of sobbing, in a paroxysm of deep grief. 

It was at the Cafe Anglais that uncle Bachelard had invited 
Duveyrier to dine, without any one knowing why, perhaps for the 
pleasure of treating a counselor, and of showing him that trades¬ 
people knew how to spend their money. He had also invited Trub¬ 
lot and Gueulin—four men and no women — for women do not know 
how to eat; they interfere with the truffles, and spoil digestion. 

“ Drink away! drink away, sir! ” he kept saying to Duveyrier; 
“ when wines are good they never intoxicate. It’s the same with 
food; it never does one harm so long as it’s delicate.” 

He, however, was careful. On this occasion he was posing for 
the gentleman, shaved and brushed up, and with a rose in his but¬ 
tonhole, restraining himself from breaking the crockery, which he 
was in the habit of doing. Trublot and Gueulin eat of everything. 
The uncle’s theory seemed the right one, for Duveyrier, who suffered 
a great deal from his stomach, had drank considerably, and had 
returned to the crayfish salad, without feeling the least indisposed, 
the red blotches on his face merely assuming a purple hue. 

Then, when the coffee had been served, with some liquors and 
cigars, and all the attendants had withdrawn, uncle Bachelard sud¬ 
denly leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. 

“ Ah! ” declared he, “ one is comfortable.” 

Trublot and Gueulin, also leaning back in their chairs, opened 
their arms. 

“ Completely ! ” said the one. 

“ Up to the eyes! ” added the other. 

Duveyrier, who was puffing, nodded his head, and murmured: 

“ Oh! the crayfish ! ” 

All four looked at each other and chuckled. Their skins were 
well-nigh bursting, and they were digesting in the slow and selfish 
way of four worthy citizens who had just had a tuckout away from 


134 


POT-BOUILLE 


tlie worries of their families. It had cost a great deal; no one had 
partaken of it with them; there was no girl there to take advantage 
of their emotion; and they unbuttoned their waistcoats, and laid 
their stomachs as it were on the table. With eyes half-closed, they 
even avoided speaking at first, each one absorbed in his solitary 
pleasure. Then, free and easy, and whilst congratulating them¬ 
selves that there were no women present, they placed their elbows 
on the table, and, with their excited faces close together, they did 
nothing but talk incessantly of them. 

11 As for myself, I am disabused, ” declared uncle Bachelard. “ It 
is after all far preferable to be virtuous. ” 

This conversation tickled Duveyrier’s fancy. He was sipping 
kummel, whilst sharp twinges of sensuality kept shooting across his 
stiff, magisterial face. 

“ For my part,” said he, “I cannot bear vice. It shocks me. 
Now, to be able to love a woman, one must esteem her, is it not so ? 
Love could not have a nobler mission. In short, a virtuous mistress, 
you understand me ? Then, I do not deny I might succumb. ” 

“ Virtuous mistresses ! but I have had no end of them!” cried 
Bachelard. “ They are a far greater nuisance than the others; and 
such sluts too! Wenches who, behind your back, lead a life fit to 
give you every possible ailment! Take, for instance, my last, a 
very respectable-looking little lady, whom I met at a church door. 
I set her up in business at Les Ternes as a milliner, just to give her 
a position. She never had a single customer, though. Well, sir, 
believe me or not as you like, but she had the whole street to sleep 
with her.” 

Gueulin was chuckling, whilst his carroty hair bristled more than 
usual, and his forehead was bathed in perspiration from the heat of 
the candles. He murmured, as he sucked his cigar: 

“ And the other, the tall one at Passy, who had a sweet-stuff 
shop. And the other, she who had a room over there, with her 
outfits for orphan children. And the other, the captain’s 
widow, you surely remember her! she used to show the mark of a 
sword-thrust on her body. All, uncle, all of them played the fool 
with you! Now, I may tell you, may I not? Well! I had to 
defend myself one night against the one with the sword-thrust. 
She wanted to, bat I was not such a fool! One never knows what 
such women may lead a man to! ” 

Bachelard seemed annoyed. He recovered his good humor, how¬ 
ever, and, blinking his heavy eyelids, said: 

11 My little fellow, you can have them all; I have something far 
better. ” 

And he refused to explain himself further, delighted at hav¬ 
ing awakened the others’ curiosity. Yet he was burning to be 
indiscreet, to let them imagine what a treasure he possessed. 

“ A young girl, ” said he at length, “ and a genuine one, on my 
word of honor.” 

il Impossible ! ” cried Trublot, “ Such things no longer exist.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


135 


11 Of good family ! ” asked Duveyrier. 

“ Of most excellent family, ” affirmed the uncle. u Imagine 
something stupidly chaste. A mere chance. She submitted quite 
innocently. She has no idea of anything even now. ” 

Gueulin listened to him in surprise; then, making a skeptical 
gesture, murmured: 

“ Ah! yes, I know.” 

“ What ? you know! ” said Bachelard angrily. “ You know noth¬ 
ing at all, my little fellow; no one knows anything. She is for 
yours truly. She is neither to be seen nor touched. Hands off! ” 

And, turning to Duveyrier, he added: 

“ You will understand, sir, you who have feeling. It affects me 
so much going there, that when I come away I feel quite young 
again. In short, it is a cozy little nook for me, where I can 
recruit myself after all those hussies. And, if you only knew, she is 
so polite and so fresh, with a skin like a flower, and a figure not in 
the least thin, sir, but as round and firm as a peach ! ” 

The counselor’s red blotches were almost bleeding through the 
rush of blood to his face. Trublot and Gueulin looked at the 
uncle; and they felt a desire to slap him as they beheld him with 
his set of false teeth, which were too white, and at the corners of 
which the saliva trickled. 

Bachelard became quite tender-hearted, and resumed, licking the 
brim of his liquor glass with the tip of his tongue : 

“ After all, my sole dream is to make the child happy! But 
there, my pot-belly tells me I am getting old ; I’m like a father to 
her. I give you my word! if I found a very good young fellow, I’d 
give her to him, oh ! in marriage, not otherwise. ” 

“ You would make two happy ones,” murmured Duveyrier senti¬ 
mentally. 

It was almost stifling in the small apartment. A glass of char¬ 
treuse that had been upset had made the tablecloth all sticky, and 
it was also covered with cigar-ash. The gentlemen were in want of 
some fresh air. 

“ Would you like to see her ? ” abruptly asked the uncle, rising 
from his seat. 

They consulted one another with a glance. Well, yes, they were 
willing, if it could afford him any pleasure; and their affected 
indifference hid a gluttonous satisfaction at the thought of going 
and finishing their dessert with the old fellow’s little one. 

“ Let’s get along, uncle! Which is the way ? ” 

Bachelard became quite grave again, tortured by his ridiculously 
vain longing to exhibit Fifi, and by his terror of being robbed of her. 
For a moment he looked to the left, then to the right, in an anxious 
way. At length he boldly said: 

“ Well! no, I won’t.” 

And he obstinately adhered to his determination, without caring 
a straw for Trublot’s chaff, nor even deigning to explain by some 
pretext his sudden change of mind. They therefore had to turn 


136 


POT-BOUILLE 


their steps in Clarisse’s direction. As it was a splendid evening, 
they decided to walk all the way, with the hygienic idea of hasten¬ 
ing their digestion. Then they started off down the Hue de Richelieu, 
pretty steady on their legs, but so full that they considered the 
pavements far too narrow. 

The house in the Rue de 'la Cerisaie seemed asleep amidst the 
solitude and the silence of the street. Duveyrier was surprised at 
not seeing any lights in the third-floor windows. Trublot said, with 
a serious air, that Clarisse had no doubt gone to bed to wait for 
them; or perhaps, Gueulin added, she wasplaying a game of bezique 
in the kitchen with her maid. They knocked. The gas on the 
staircase was burning with the straight and immovable flame of a 
lamp in some chapel. Not a sound, not a breath. But, as the 
four men passed before the room of the doorkeeper, the latter hastily 
came out. 

“ Sir, sir, the key! ” 

Duveyrier stood stock-still on the first step. 

u Is madame not there, then ? ” asked he. 

“No, sir. And, wait a moment, you must take a candle with 
you.” 

As he handed him the candlestick, the doorkeeper allowed quite 
a chuckle of ferocious and vulgar jocosity to pierce through the 
exaggerated respect depicted on his pallid countenance. Neither 
of the two young men nor the uncle had said a word. It was in the 
midst of this silence, and with bent backs, that they ascended the 
stairs in single file, the interminable noise of their footsteps resound¬ 
ing up each mournful flight. At their head, Duveyrier, who was 
puzzling himself trying to understand, lifted his feet with the 
mechanical movement of a somnambulist; and the candle, which 
he held with a trembling hand, cast their four shadows on the wall, 
resembling in their strange ascent a procession of broken puppets. 

On the third floor, a faintness came over him, and he was quite 
unable to find the key-hole. Trublot did him the service of opening 
the door. The key turned in the lock with a sonorous and rever¬ 
berating noise, as though beneath the vaulted roof of some cathe¬ 
dral. 

“ Jupiter! ” murmured he, “ it doesn’t seem as if the place was 
inhabited. ” 

“ It sounds empty,” said Bachelard. 

“ A little family vault, ” added Gueulin. 

They entered. Duveyrier passed first, holding high the candle. 
The ante-room was empty, even the hat-pegs had disappeared. The 
drawing-room and the parlor were also empty : not a stick of furni¬ 
ture, not a curtain at the windows, not even a brass rod. Duvey^ 
rier stood as one petrified, first looking down at his feet, then rais¬ 
ing his eyes to the ceiling, and then searchingly gazing at the walls, 
as though he had been seeking the hole through which everything 
had disappeared. 

“ What a clear out! ” Trublot could not help exclaiming. 


POT-BOUILLE 


137 


“ Perhaps the place is going to he done up,” observed Gueulin, 
without as much as a smile. “ Let us see the bed-room. The furni¬ 
ture may have been moved in there.” 

But the bed-room was also bare, with that ugly and chilly bare¬ 
ness of plaster walls from which the paper has been torn off. Where 
the bedstead had stood, the iron supports of the canopy, also 
removed, left gaping holes; and, one of the windows having 
been left partly open, the air from the street filled the apartment 
with the humidity and the unsavoriness of a public square. 

“My God! my God!” stuttered Duveyrier, at length able to 
weep, unnerved by the sight of the place where the friction of the 
mattresses had rubbed the paper off the wall. 

Uncle Bachelard became quite paternal. 

“ Courage, sir! ” he kept repeating. “ The same thing happened 
to me, and I did not die of it. Honor is safe, damn it all! ” 

The counselor shook his head, and went into the dressing-room, 
and then into the kitchen. The evidence of the disaster increased. 
The piece of American cloth behind the washstand in the dressing- 
room had been taken down, and the hooks had been removed from 
the kitchen. 

“ No, that is too much, it is pure capriciousness! ” said Gueulin, in 
amazement. “ She might have left the hooks. ” 

“I can’t stand this any longer, you know,” Trublot ended by 
declaring, as they visited the drawing-room for the third time. 
“ Really! I would give ten sous for a chair.” 

All four came to a halt, standing. 

“ When did you see her last? ” asked Bachelard. 

“ Yesterday, sir! ” exclaimed Duveyrier. 

Gueulin wagged his head. By Jove! it had not taken long, it 
had been neatly done. But Trublot uttered an exclamation. He 
had just caught sight of a dirty collar and a damaged cigar on the 
mantelpiece. 

“ Do not complain,” said he, laughing, “ she has left you a keep¬ 
sake. It is always something. ” 

Duveyrier looked at the collar with sudden emotion. Then he 
murmured: 

“ Twenty-five thousand francs’ worth of furniture, there was 
twenty-five thousand francs’ worth! Well! no, no, it is not that 
which I regret! ” 

“ You will not have the cigar? ” interrupted Trublot. “ Then, 
allow me to. It has a hole in it, but I can stick a cigarette paper 
over that.” 

He lighted it at the candle which the counselor was still holding, 
and, letting himself drop down against the wall, he added: 

“ So much the worse! I must sit down a while on the floor. My 
legs will not bear me any longer.” 

“I beg of you,” at length said Duveyrier, “to explain to me 
where she can possibly be. ” 

Bachelard and Gueulin looked at each other. It was a delicate 


138 


POT-BOUILLE 


matter. However, the uncle came to a manly decision, and he told 
the poor fellow everything, all Clarisse's goings-on, her continual 
escapades, the lovers she picked up behind his back, at each of 
their parties. She had no doubt gone off with the last one, big 
Payan, that mason of whom a Southern town wished to make an 
artist. Duveyrier listened to the abominable story with an expres¬ 
sion of horror. He allowed this cry of despair to escape him: 

“ There is, then, no honesty left on earth ! " 

And suddenly opening his heart, he told them all he had done 
for her. 

“ Leave her alone! " exclaimed Bachelard, delighted with the 
counselor's misfortune, “ she will humbug you again. There is 
nothing like virtue, understand! It is far better to take a little one 
devoid of malice, as innocent as the child just born. Then, there is 
no danger, one may sleep in peace. " 

Trublot meanwhile was smoking, leaning against the wall with 
his legs stretched out. He was gravely reposing, the others had 
forgotten him. 

“ If you particularly want it, I can find the address for you," said 
he. “ I know the maid." 

Duveyrier turned round, surprised at that voice which seemed to 
issue from the boards; and, when he beheld him smoking all that 
remained of Clarisse, puffing big clouds of smoke, in which he 
fancied he beheld the twenty-five thousand francs' worth of furniture 
evaporating, he made an angry gesture and replied: 

“ No, she is unworthy of me. She must beg my pardon on her 
knees." 

11 Hallo! here she is coming back! " said Gueulin, listening. 

And some one was indeed walking in the ante-room, whilst a 
voice said: Well! what's up? is every one dead? " And Octave 
appeared. He was quite bewildered by the open doors and 
the empty rooms. But his amazement increased still more when he 
beheld the four men in the midst of the denuded drawing-room, one 
sitting on the floor, and the other three standing up, and only lighted 
by the meager candle which the counselor was holding, like a taper 
at church. A few words sufficed to inform him of what had 
occurred. 

“ It isn’t possible! " cried he. 

“ Did they not tell you anything, then, down-stairs ? " asked 
Gueulin. 

“ No, nothing at all; the doorkeeper quietly watched me come up. 
Ah! so she’s gone! It does not surprise me! She had such queer 
hair and eyes! " 

He asked some particulars, and stood talking a minute, forgetful 
of the sad news which he had brought. Then, turning abruptly 
toward Duveyrier, he said: 

“ By the way, it's your wife who sent me to fetch you. Your 
father-in-law is dying." 

“ Ah! " simply observed the counselor. 


POT-BOtTILLE 


139 


“ Old Vabre! ” murmured Bachelard. “ I expected as much. ” 

11 Pooh! when one get’s to the end of one’s reel! ” remarked 
Gueulin, philosophically. 

“ Yes, it’s best to take one’s departure, ” added Trublot, in the act 
of sticking a second cigarette paper round his cigar. 

The gentlemen at length decided to leave the empty apartment. 
Octave repeated he had given his word of honor that he would bring 
Duveyrier back with him at once, no matter what state he was in. 
The latter carefully shut the door, as though he had left his dead 
affections there; but, down-stairs, he was overcome with shame, and 
Trublot had to return the key to the doorkeeper. Then, outside on 
the pavement, there was a silent exchange of hearty hand-shakes; 
and, directly the cab had driven off with Octave and Duveyrier, 
Uncle Bachelard said to Gueulin and Trublot, as they stood in the 
deserted street: 

“ Jove’s thunder! I must show her to you. ” 

For a minute past he had been stamping about, greatly excited 
by the despair of that big noodle of a counselor, bursting with his 
own happiness, with that happiness which he considered due to his 
own deep malice, and which he could no longer contain. 

“ You know, uncle, ” said Gueulin, “ if it’s only to take us as far as 
the door again, and then to leave us-” 

“ No, Jove’s thunder! you shall see her. It will please me. True, 
it’s nearly midnight, but she shall get up if she’s in bed. You know, 
she’s the daughter of a captain, Captain Menu, and she has a very 
respectable aunt, born at Villeneuve, near Lille, on my word of 
honor! Messieurs Mardienne Brothers, of the Rue Saint-Sulpice, 
will give her a character. Ah! Jove’s thunder! we’re in need of 
it; you’ll see what virtue is! ” 

And he took hold of their arms, Gueulin on his right, Trublot on 
his left, putting his best"foot forward as he started off in quest of a 
cab, to arrive there the sooner. 

Meanwhile Octave briefly related to the counselor all he knew of 
Monsieur Vabre’s attack, without hiding that Madame Duveyrier 
was acquainted with the address of the Rue de la Ceriaise. After a 
pause, the counselor asked, in a doleful voice: 

“ Do you think she will forgive me ? ” 

Octave remained silent. The cab continued to roll along, in the 
obscurity lighted up every now and then by a ray from a gas-lamp. 
Just as they were reaching their destination Duveyrier, tortured 
with anxiety, put another question: 

“ The best thing for me to do for the present is to make it up with 
my wife; do you not think so ? ” 

“ It would, perhaps, be wise,” replied the young man, obliged to 
answer. 

Then, Duveyrier felt the necessity of regretting his father-in-law. 
He was a man of great intelligence, with an incredible capacity for 
work. However, they would, very likely, be able to set him on his 
legs again. In the Rue de Choiseul, they found the street-door 


140 


POT-BOUILLE 


open, and quite a group gathered before Monsieur Gourd’s room. 
But they held their tongues, directly they caught sight of Duvey- 
rier. 

“ Well ? ” inquired the latter. 

“ The doctor is applying mustard poultices to Monsieur Vabre,” 
replied Hippolyte. “ Oh ! I had such difficulty to find him! ” 

Up-stairs in the drawing-room, Madame Duveyrier came forward 
to meet them. She had cried a great deal, her eyes sparkled 
beneath the swollen lids. The counselor, full of embarrassment, 
opened his arms; and he embraced her as he murmured: 

“ My poor Clotilde! ” 

Surprised at this unusual display of affection, she drew back. 
Octave had kept behind; but he heard the husband add, in a low 
voice: 

u Forgive me, let us forget our grievances on this said occasion. 
You see, I have come back to you, and for always. Ah ! I am well 
punished! ” 

She did not reply, but disengaged herself. Then, resuming in 
Octave’s presence her attitude of a woman who desires to ignore 
everything, she said: 

“ I should not have disturbed you, my dear, for I know how 
important that inquiry respect the Rue de Provence is. But I was 
all alone, I felt that your presence was necessary. My poor father 
is lost. Go and see him : you will find the doctor there. ” 

When Duveyrier had gone into the next room, she drew near to 
Octave, who, so as not to appear to be listening to them, was stand¬ 
ing in front of the piano. 

“ Was he there ? ” asked she briefly. 

u Yes, madame.” 

“ Then, what has happened? what is the matter with him ? ” 

“ The person has left him, madame, and taken all the furniture 
away with her. I found him with nothing but a candle between the 
bare walls.” 

Clothilde made a gesture of despair. She understood. An 
expression of repugnance and discouragement appeared on her 
beautiful face. It was not enough that she had lost her father, it 
seemed as though this misfortune was also to serve as a pretext for 
a reconciliation with her husband! She knew him well, he would 
be forever after her, now that there would be nothing elsewhere to 
protect her; and, in her respect for every duty, she trembled at the 
thought that she would be unable to refuse to submit to the abom¬ 
inable service. For an instant, she looked at the piano. Bitter 
tears came to her eyes, as she simply said to Octavo: 

“ Thank you, sir.” 

They both passed in turn into Monsieur Vabre’s bed-chamber. 
Duveyrier, looking very pale, was listening to Doctor Juillerat, who 
was giving him some explanations in a low voice. It was an attack 
of serous apoplexy; the patient might last till the morrow, but 
there was not the slightest hope of his recovery. Clotilde just at 


POT-BOUILLE 


141 


that moment entered the room; she heard this giving over of the 
patient, and dropped into a chair, wiping her eyes with her hand¬ 
kerchief, already soaked with tears, and twisted up, and almost 
reduced to a pulp. She, however, found strength to ask the doctor 
if her poor father would recover consciousness. The doctor had 
his doubts; and, as though he had penetrated the object of the 
question, he expressed the hope that MonsieurVabre had long since 
put his affairs in order. 

“ I presume the family knows what has happened,” said Doctor 
Juillerat. 

“Well! no,” murmured Clotilde. “I received such a shock! 
My first thought was to send Monsieur Mouret for my husband.” 

Duveyrier gave her another glance. Now they understood each 
other. He slowly approached the bed, and examined Monsieur 
Vabre, stretched out in his corpse-like stiffness, and whose immov¬ 
able face was streaked with yellow blotches. One o’clock struck. 
The doctor talked of withdrawing, for he had tried all the usual 
remedies, and could do nothing more. He would call again early 
on the morrow. At length, he was going off with Octave, when 
Madame Duveyrier called the latter back. 

“ We will wait till to-morrow, ” said she, “you can send Berthe 
to me under some pretext; I will also get Valerie to come, and they 
shall break the news to my brothers. Ah! poor things, let them 
sleep in peace this night! There is quite enough with our having 
to watch in tears. ” 

And she and her husband remained alone with the old man, 
whose death rattle chilled the chamber. 


CHAPTER XI. 

When Octave went down on the morrow at eight o’clock, he was 
greatly surprised to find the entire house acquainted with the attack 
of the night before, and the desperate condition of the landlord. 
The house, however, was not concerned about the patient: it was 
solely interested in what he would leave behind him. 

The Pichons were seated before some basins of chocolate in their 
little dining-room. Jules called Octave in. 

“ I say, what a fuss there will be if he dies like that! We shall 
see something funny. Do you know if he has made a will ? ” 

The young man, without answering, asked them where they had 
heard the news. Marie had learnt it at the baker’s; moreover, it 
crept from story to story, and even to the end of the street by 
means of the servants. Then, after slapping Lilitte, who was soak¬ 
ing her fingers in her chocolate, the young woman observed in her 
turn: 



142 


POT-BOtTlLLfi 


“ Ah! all that money! If he only thought of leaving us as many 
sous as there are five franc pieces. But there is no fear of that! ” 

And, as Octave took his departure, she added: 

“ I have finished ycur hooks, Monsieur Mouret. Will you please 
take them when convenient? ” 

He was hastening down-stairs, feeling anxious, as he recollected 
having promised Madame Duveyrier to send Berthe to her before 
anything was known of the matter, when, on the third floor, he 
came in contact with Campardon, who was going out. 

“Well!” said the latter, “so your employer is coming in for 
something. I have heard that the old fellow has close upon six 
hundred thousand francs, besides this property. You see, he spent 
nothing at the Duveyriers’, and he had a good deal left of what he 
brought from Versailles, without counting the twenty and odd 
thousand francs received in rent from the house. Eh ? it is a fine 
cake to share, when there are only three to partake of it! ” 

Whilst talking thus, he continued to go down behind Octave. But, 
on the second floor, they met Madame Juzeur, who was returning 
from seeing what her little maid, Louise, could be doing of a morn¬ 
ing, taking over an hour to fetch four sous 7 worth of milk. She 
entered naturally into the conversation, being very well informed. 

“ It is not known how he has settled his affairs,” murmured she 
in her gentle way. “ There will perhaps be some bother. ” 

“ Ah, well! ” said the architect, gayly, “ I should like to be in 
their shoes. It would not take long. One makes three equal 
shares, each takes his own, and there you are ! ” 

Madame Juzeur leant over the balusters, then raised her head, 
and made sure that no one else was on the stairs. At length, low¬ 
ering her voice, she observed: 

“ And if they did not find what they expected ? There are 
rumors about.” 

The architect opened his eyes wide with amazement. Then he 
shrugged his shoulders. Pooh! mere gossip! Old Vabre was a 
miser who hid his savings in worsted stockings. And he went off, 
as he had an appointment at Saint-Roch with the Abb6 Mauduit. 

“ My wife complains of you, ” said he to Octave, looking back, 
after going down three stairs. “ Call in and have a chat with her 
now and then.” 

Madame Juzeur detained the young man a moment. 

“ And I, how you neglect me! I thought you loved me a little. 
When you come, I will let you taste a liquor from the West Indies, 
oh ! something delicious! ” 

Octave at length entered the warehouse. The first person he 
beheld, seated at the cashier’s desk, was Madame Josserand under 
arms, polished up and laced, and her hair already done. Close 
beside her, Berthe, who had no doubt come down in haste, in the 
charming deshabille of a dressing-gown, appeared to be very excited. 
But they stopped talking on catching sight of him, and the mother 
looked at him with a terrible eye. 


POT-BOUILLE 


143 


u So, sir, ” said she, u it is thus that you love the firm ? You enter 
into the plots of my daughter’s enemies. ” 

He wished to defend himself, and state the facts of the case. But 
she prevented him from speaking, she accused him of having spent 
the night with the Duveyriers, looking for the will, to insert all 
sorts of things in it. And, as he laughed, asking what interest he 
could have had in doing such a thing, she resumed: 

“ Your own interest, your own interest. In short! sir, you should 
have hastened to inform us, as God was good enough to make you a 
witness of the occurrence. When one thinks that, had it not been 
for me, my daughter might still have been in ignorance of it! Yes, 
she would have been despoiled, had I not run down-stairs the 
moment I heard the news. Eh! your interest, your interest, sir, 
who knows ? Though Madame Duveyrier is very faded, yet some 
people, not over particular, may still find her good enough, per¬ 
haps.” 

“ Oh! mamma ! ” said Berthe, “ Clotilde, who is so virtuous ! ” 
But Madame Josserand shrugged her shoulders pityingly. 

“ Pooh! you know very well people will do anything for money! ” 
Octave was obliged to relate to them all the circumstances of the 
attack. They exchanged glances: as the mother said, there had 
evidently been maneuvers. Clotilde was really too kind to wish to 
spare her relations’ emotions! However, they let the young man 
start on his work, though still having their doubts as to his con¬ 
duct in the matter. Their lively explanation continued : 

“ And who will pay the fifty thousand francs agreed upon in the 
contract?” said Madame Josserand. “ We are not likely to see a 
single one of them when he is dead and buried. ” 

“ Oh! the fifty thousand francs!” murmured Berthe, in an embar¬ 
rassed way. “ You know he only agreed, as we did, to pay ten 
thousand francs every six months. The time is not up yet; the 
best thing is to wait. ” 

“ Wait! wait till he comes back and brings them to you, I 
suppose! You great blockhead, do you want to be robbed? No, 
no! you must demand them at once out of the estate. As for us, 
we are still alive, thank goodness! It is not known whether we shall 
pay or not; but with him it is another thing; as he is dead, he must 
pay.” 

And she made her daughter swear not to yield, for she had never 
given any one the right to take her for a fool. 

“ Go up too!” she ended by exclaiming, in a cry from her heart: 
“ Auguste is too weak; they are sure to be taking him in again! ” 
Then Berthe went off up-stairs. Octave, who was arranging the 
display in the window, had listened to what they said. When he 
found himself alone with Madame Josserand, and saw her moving in 
the direction of the door, he asked her, in the hope of a holiday, 
whether it would not be proper to close the warehouse. 

11 Whatever for?” inquired she. “ Wait till he is dead. It is not 
worth while losing a day’s sale. ” 


144 


POT-BOUILLE 


Then, as he folded a remnant of poppy-colored silk, she added, 
to soften the harshness of her words: 

“ Only, you may as well, I think, not put any red in the 
window.” 

Up on the first floor, Berthe found Auguste with his father. The 
room had in no way changed since the day before; it was still 
dampish and silent, save for the same long and painful death-rattle. 
The old man on the bed continued perfectly rigid, in a complete 
annihilation of all feeling and movement. 

“Ah! my dear, what a frightful visitation!” said Clotilde, going 
up to and embracing Berthe. 

“ Why not have informed us of it?” asked the latter, with her 
mother’s affected pout. “ We were there to help you to bear it. ” 

Auguste, with a glance, begged her to keep silent. The moment 
for quarreling had not arrived. They could wait. Doctor Juillerat, 
who had already been once, was to call again; but he still gave no 
hope; the patient would not live through the day. Auguste was 
informing his wife of this, when Theophile and Valerie entered in 
their turn. Clotilde at once advanced to meet them, and repeated, 
as she embraced Valerie: 

“ What a frightful visitation, my dear!” 

But Theophile was in a state of great excitement. “ So, now,” 
said he, without even lowering his voice, “ when one’s father is 
dying one only hears of it through the charcoal dealer. Did you, 
then, require time to rifle his pockets?” 

Duveyrier rose up indignantly. But Clotilde motioned him aside, 
whilst she answered her brother very gently : 

“ Unhappy man! is our father’s death agony not even sacred to 
you ? Look at him; behold your work! yes, it is you who have 
brought him to this, by refusing to pay your overdue rent. ” 

Valerie burst out laughing. 

“ Come,” said she, “ you are not speaking seriously.” 

“ What! not speaking seriously ! ” resumed Clotilde, filled with 
indignation.. “ You know how much he liked to collect his rents. 
Had you really wished to kill him, you could not have acted in a 
better way. ” 

And they came to high words; they reciprocally accused one 
another of wishing to lay hands on the estate, when Auguste, still 
sullen and calm, requested them to recollect where they were. 

“ Keep quiet! You have plenty of time. It is not decent at such 
a moment.” 

Then the others, admitting the justice of this observation, settled 
themselves around the bed. A deep silence ensued; again nothing 
but the death rattle was heard in the moist atmosphere of the room. 
B6rthe and Auguste were at the dying man’s feet; Valerie and The¬ 
ophile, being the last comers, had been obliged to seat themselves 
at the table, some distance off; whilst Clotilde was at the head of 
the bed, with her husband behind her; and she had pushed her son 
Gustave, whom the old man adored, close up against the edge of 


POT-BOUILLE 


145 


the mattresses. They now all looked at one another, without ex¬ 
changing a word. But the bright eyes, the tightly-compressed lips, 
told of the hidden thoughts, the surmises full of anxiety and irrita¬ 
tion, which were passing in the pale-faced heads of those next-of- 
kin, with their red and swollen eyelids. The sight of the collegian, 
so close to the bed, especially exasperated the two young couples; 
for it was self-evident that the Duveyriers were counting on Gus¬ 
tave’s presence to influence the grandfather’s affections if he recovered 
consciousness. 

Moreover, this maneuver was a proof that in all probability no 
will existed; and the Yabres glanced covertly at the old iron safe 
which the retired notary had brought with him from Versailles and 
had had fixed in the wall of his bed-chamber. He had a mania for 
shutting up all sorts of things inside it. No doubt the Duveyriers 
had hastened to ransack this safe during the night. Theophile had 
the idea of laying a trap for them to compel them to speak. 

“I say,” he at length went and whispered in the counselor^ 
ear, u suppose we send for the notary. Papa may wish to alter his 
will.” 

Duveyrier did not at first hear. As he felt excessively bored in 
that room, he had allowed his thoughts all through the night to 
revert to Clarisse. The wisest thing would decidedly be to make it 
up with his wife; but then the other was so funny, when she threw 
her chemise over her head, with the gesture of a street-arab; and 
with his vague glance fixed on the dying man, he still had visions 
of her, and would have given everything to have had her with him 
again. Theophile was obliged to repeat his question. 

“ I have questioned Monsieur Renaudin,” at length answered the 
counselor in a bewildered way. 11 There is no will.” 

“ But here? ” 

“ No more here than at the notary’s.” 

Theophile looked at Auguste; was it not sufficiently evident? the 
Duveyriers had searched everything. Clotilde saw the glance, and 
was greatly irritated with her husband. What was the matter with 
him ? was grief sending him to sleep ? And she added : 

11 Papa has no doubt done what he thought right. We shall learn 
it only too soon, heaven knows! ” 

Meanwhile, the hours passed away. At eleven o’clock they had 
a diversion, Doctor Juillerat again calling. The patient’s condition 
was becoming worse and worse, it was now even doubtful whether 
he would be able to recognize his children before dying. And the 
sobbing started afresh when Clemence announced the Abbe Maud- 
uit. Clotilde, who rose to meet him, was the first to receive his 
consolations. He appeared to be deeply affected by the family vis¬ 
itation ; he had an encouraging word for each. Then, with much tact, 
he talked of the rites of religion, insinuating that they should not 
let that soul pass away without the succor of the Church. 

“ I had thought of it,” murmured Clotilde. 

Pot-Bouille 10 


146 


POT-BOUILLE 


But Theophile raised objections. The father was not at all religious; 
he had at one time very advanced ideas, for he was a reader of 
Voltaire's works; in short, the best thing was to do nothing, as they 
were unable to consult him. In the heat of the discussion, he even 
added : 

“ It is as though you brought the sacrament to that piece of fur¬ 
niture. " 

The three women compelled him to leave off. They were all 
trembling with emotion, and said that the priest was right, 
whilst they excused themselves for not having sent for him before, 
through the confusion in which the catastrophe had plunged them. 
Monsieur Vabre would certainly have consented had he been able to 
speak, for he had a horror of acting different to other people. More¬ 
over, the ladies would take the responsibility on their own shoulders. 

“ It should be done, if only on account of the neighbors," repeated 
Clotilde. 

“No doubt," said the Abbe Mauduit, who hastened to give his 
approval. “ A man of your father's position should set a good 
example." 

Auguste had no opinion either way. But Duveyrier, aroused from 
his recollections of Clarisse, whose way of putting on her stockings with 
one leg in the air he was j ust then thinking of, energetically demanded 
the sacraments. They were absolutely necessary; not a member of 
the family should die without them. Doctor Juillerat, who had dis¬ 
creetly moved on one side, hiding his freethinker’s disdain, then 
went up to the priest, and said familiarly to him, in a whisper, the 
same as to a colleague often encountered under similar circum¬ 
stances : 

“ Be quick; you have no time to lose." 

The priest hastened to take his departure. He announced that he 
would bring the sacrament and the extreme unction, so as to be 
prepared for every emergency. And Theophile, in his obstinacy, 
murmured: 

“ Ah, well! so dying people are now made to receive the com¬ 
munion in spite of themselves! " 

But they all at once experienced a great emotion. On regaining 
her place, Clotilde had found the dying man with his eyes wide 
open. She could not repress a faint cry; the others hastened to the 
bedside ; and the old fellow's glance slowly wandered round the cir¬ 
cle, without the least movement of his head. Doctor Juillerat, with 
an air of surprise, came and bent over his patient, to follow this last 
crisis. 

“ Father, it is us; do you know us? " asked Clotilde. 

Monsieur Vabre looked at her fixedly; then his lips moved, but 
not a sound came from them. They were all pushing one another, 
wishing to secure his last word. Val6rie, who found herself right at 
the rear, and obliged therefore to stand on tip-toe, said, harshly: 

“ You are stifling him. Do move away from him. If he desired 
anything, no one would be able to know." 


POT-BOUILLE 


147 


The others had to draw on one side. And Monsieur Vabre’s eyes 
were indeed looking round the room. 

“ He wants something, that is certain,” murmured Berthe. 

“ Here’s Gustave,” said Clotilde. “You see him, do you not? 
He has come expressly from school to embrace you. Kiss your 
grandfather, my child. ” 

As the youngster drew hack, frightened, she kept him there with 
her arm, whilst she waited a smile on the dying man’s distorted 
features. But Auguste, who had been watching his eyes, declared 
that he was looking at the table; no doubt he wished to write. 
This caused quite a shock. All tried to be first. They brought the 
table to the bedside, and fetched some paper, an inkstand, and a 
pen. Then they raised him, propping him up with three pillows. 
The doctor gave his consent to all this with a simple blink of the 
eyes. 

“ Give him the pen,” said Clotilde, quivering, and without leav¬ 
ing go of Gustave, whom she continued to hold toward him. 

Then came a solemn moment. The relations, pressed round the 
bed, awaited anxiously. Monsieur Vabre, who did not appear to 
recognize any one, had let the penholder drop from his fingers. For 
a moment his eyes wandered over the table, on which was the oak 
box full of tickets. Then, slipping from off his pillows, and falling 
forward like a piece of rag, he stretched out his arm in a final effort, 
and, plunging his hand among the tickets, he dabbled about in the 
happy manner of a baby playing with something dirty. He bright¬ 
ened up, and wished to speak, but he could only lisp one syllable, 
ever the same, one of those syllables into which brats in swaddling- 
clothes put a whole host of sensations. 

“ Ga — ga — ga — ga-” 

It was to the work of his life, to his, great statistical study, that 
he was bidding good-bye. Suddenly his head rolled over. He was 
dead. 

“ I expected as much,” murmured the doctor, who, seeing how 
scared the relations were, carefully laid him out, and closed his 
eyes. 

Was it possible? Auguste had removed the table; they all 
remained chilled and dumb. Soon their sobs burst forth. Well! as 
there was nothing more to hope for, they would manage all the same 
to share the fortune. And Clotilde, after hastening to send Gustave 
away, to spare him the frightful spectacle, gave free vent to her 
tears, her head leaning against Berthe, who was sobbing the same 
as Valerie. Standing at the window, Theophile and Auguste were 
roughly rubbing their eyes. But Duveyrier, especially, exhibited a 
most extraordinary amount of grief, stifling heart-rending sobs in 
his handkerchief. No, really, he could not live without Clarisse; he 
would rather die at once, like-the other one there; and the loss of 
his mistress, coming in the midst of all this mourning, caused him 
immense bitterness. 

“ Madame,” announced Clemence, “ here are the sacraments.” 


148 


POT-BOUILLE 


Abb6 Mauduit appeared on the threshold. Behind his shoulder, 
one caught a glimpse of the face full of curiosity of a boy chorister. 
On beholding the display of grief, the priest questioned the doctor 
with a glance, whilst the latter extended his arms, as though to say 
it was not his fault. So, after mumbling a few prayers, Abbe Mau¬ 
duit withdrew with an air of embarrassment, taking his parapher¬ 
nalia along with him. 

“ It is a bad sign/ 7 said Clemence to the other servants, standing 
in a group at "the door of the ante-room. “ The sacraments are not 
to be brought for nothing. You will see they will be back in the 
house before another year goes by. ” 

Monsieur Vabre’s funeral did not take place till the day after the 
morrow. Duveyrier, all the same, had inserted in the circulars 
announcing his demise, the words, “ provided with the sacraments 
of the Church. ” 

As the warehouse did not open on that day, Octave was free. 
This holiday delighted him, as, for a long time past, he had wished 
to put his room straight, alter the position of some of the furniture, 
and arrange his few books in a little bookcase he had bought 
second-hand. He had risen earlier than usual, and was just finish¬ 
ing what he was about toward eight o’clock on the morning of the 
funeral, when Marie knocked at the door. She had brought him 
back a heap of books. 

“ As you do not come for them, ” said she, “ I am delighted to 
take the trouble to return them to you. ” 

But she blushingly refused to enter, shocked at the idea of being 
in a young man’s room. Their intimate relations had, moreover, 
completely ceased, in quite a natural manner, because he had not 
returned to her. And she remained quite as affectionate with him, 
always greeting him with a smile whenever they met. 

Octave was very merry that morning. He wished to tease her. 

“ So it is Jules who won’t let you come into my room? ” he kept 
saying. “How do you get on with Jules now? Is he amiable? 
Yes, you know what I mean. Answer now! ” 

She laughed, and was not at all scandalized. 

“ Why, of course! whenever you take him out, you treat him to 
vermouth, and tell him things which send him home like a madman. 
Oh ! he is too amiable. You know, I don’t ask for so much. Still, I 
prefer it should take place at home than elsewhere, that’s very 
certain .” 

She became serious again, and added: 

“ Here, I have brought you back your Balzac, I was not able to 
finish it. It’s too sad. That gentleman has nothing but disagree¬ 
able things to tell one! ” 

When Octave was dressed, he remembered his promise to go and 
see Madame Campardon. He had two good hours to while away, 
the funeral being timed for eleven o’clock, and he thought of utiliz¬ 
ing his morning in making a few calls in the house. Rose received 
him in bed: he apologized, fearing that he disturbed her; but she 


POT-BOUILLE 


149 


herself called him in. They saw so little of him, and she was so 
delighted at having some one to talk to. 

“ Ah ! my dear child,” declared she at once, “ it is I who ought 
to he below, nailed up between four planks! ” 

Yes, the landlord was very lucky, he had finished with existence. 
And Octave, surprised at finding her a prey to such melancholy, 
asked her if she felt worse. 

“ No, thank you. It is always the same. Only there are times 
when I have had enough of it. Achille has been obliged to have a 
bed put up in his work-room, because it annoyed me whenever he 
moved in the night. And you know that Gasparine has yielded to 
our entreaties, and has left the drapery establishment. I am very 
grateful to her, she nurses me so tenderly! Ah! I could no longer 
live were it not for all these kind affections around me ! ” 

Just then, Gasparine, with her submissive air of a poor relation, 
fallen to the rank of a servant, brought her a cup of coffee and some 
bread and butter. She helped her to raise herself, propped her up 
against some cushions, and served her on a little tray covered with 
a napkin. And Rose, dressed in a little loose embroidered jacket, 
ate with a hearty appetite, amidst the linen, edged with lace. She 
was quite fresh, looking younger than ever, and very pretty, with 
her white skin, and short, fair, curly hair. 

11 Oh! the stomach is all right, it is not the stomach that is ail¬ 
ing, ” she kept saying, as she soaked her slices of bread and butter. 

Two tears dropped into her coffee. Then Gasparine scolded her. 

“ If you cry, I shall call Achille. Are you not pleased ? are you 
not sitting there like a queen? ” 

When Madame Campardonhad finished, and she again found her¬ 
self alone with Octave, she was quite consoled. Out of coquetry,, 
she again returned to the subject of death, but with the gentle 
gayety of a woman idling away the morning between her warm 
sheets. Well! she would go off all the same, when her turn came ; 
only, they were right, she was not unhappy, she could let herself 
live ; for, in point of fact, they spared her all the main cares of life. 

Then, as the young man rose to leave, she added: 

“ Now, do try and come oftener? Amuse yourself well, don’t let 
the funeral make you too sad. One dies a trifle every day, the 
thing is to get used to it. ” 

It was the little maid Louise who opened the door to Octave at 
Madame Juzeur’s, on the same landing. She ushered him into the 
drawing-room, looked at him a moment as she laughed in her 
bewildered sort of way, and then ended by stating that her mistress 
was just finishing dressing. Madame Juzeur appeared almost at 
once, dressed in black, and looking gentler and more refined than 
ever in her mourning. 

“ I felt sure you would call this morning,” sighed she with a 
weary air. “ All night long I have been dreaming and seeing you. 
It is impossible to sleep, you understand, with that corpse in the 
house! ” 


150 


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And she admitted that she had got up three times in the night to 
look under the furniture. 

“ But you should have called me! ” said the young man, gallantly. 
“ Two in a bed are never frightened. ” 

She assumed a charming air of shame. 

“ Hold your tongue, it’s naughty! ” 

And she held her open hand over his lips. He was naturally 
obliged to kiss it. Then she spread the fingers out, laughing the 
while as though being tickled. But he, excited by this play, sought 
to push matters farther. He had caught hold of lier, and was press¬ 
ing her against his breast, without her making the least attempt to 
free herself. 

In her determination there was a sort of jesuitical reserve, a fear 
of the confessional, a certainty of having her minor sins forgiven, 
whilst the great one would cause her no end of unpleasantness with 
her spiritual director. Then, there were other unavowed sentiments, 
her honor and self-esteem blended together, the coquetry of always 
having the advantage of men by never satisfying them, and a shrewd 
personal enjoyment in being smothered with kisses, without any 
after consequences. She liked this better, and she stuck to it; not 
a man could flatter himself of having succeeded with her, since her 
husband’s cowardly desertion. And she was a respectable woman! 

“ No, sir; not one! Ah! I can hold up my head, I can! What 
a number of wretched women, in my position, would have miscon¬ 
ducted themselves! ” 

She pushed him gently aside, and rose from the sofa. 

“ Leave me. It worries me so much, does that corpse down¬ 
stairs. It seems to me that the whole house smells of it. ” 

Meanwhile the time for the funeral was approaching. She wished 
to be at the church beforehand, so as not to see all the funeral 
trappings. But, while escorting him to the door, she recollected 
having mentioned her liquor; she therefore made him come in again, 
and fetched the bottle and a couple of glasses herself. It was a 
very sweet cream, with a perfume of flowers. When she had drank 
of it, a greediness, like that of a little girl, gave an air of languid 
delight to her face. She could have lived on sugar; vanilla and 
rose-scented sweeties had the same effect on her as an amorous 
caress. 

“ It will sustain us,” said she. 

And, when he kissed her on the mouth in the ante-room, she 
closed her eyes. Their sugary lips seemed to be melting like sweet¬ 
meats. 

It was close upon eleven o’clock. The coffin had not been brought 
down for exhibition, as the undertaker’s men, after wasting their 
time at a neighboring wine shop, had not finished putting up the 
hangings. Octave went to have a look out of curiosity. The porch 
was already closed in at the back by a large black curtain, but the 
men had still to fix the hangings over the door. And outside on the 
pavement a group of maid-servants were gossiping with their noses 


POT-BOUILLE 


151 


in the air; whilst Hippolyte, dressed in deep mourning, hastened on 
the work with a dignified air. 

Then Madame Gourd, who had remained in her arm-chair on 
account of her poor legs, rose painfully on her feet. As she was 
quite unable to get even as far as the church, Monsieur Gourd had 
told her to he sure and salute the landlord’s corpse when it passed 
their room. It was a matter of duty. She went to the door with a 
mourning cap on her head, and curtesied as the coffin went by. 

At Saint-Roch, Doctor Juillerat made a show of not going inside 
during the ceremony. There was, however, a tremendous crowd, 
and quite a group of men preferred to remain on the steps. The 
weather was very mild — a superb June day. And, as they were 
unable to smoke, their conversation turned upon politics. The 
principal door was left open, and at moments the sound of the 
organs issued from the church, which was draped in black and filled 
with lighted tapers, looking like so many stars. 

“You know that Monsieur Thiers will stand for our district next 
year,” announced Leon Josserand, in his grave way. 

“ Ah!” said the doctor. “ Of course you will not vote for him — 
you are a Republican?” 

The young man, whose opinions cooled down the more Madame 
Dambreville introduced him into good society, curtly answered: 

“ Why not ? He is the declared adversary of the Empire. ” 

Then a heated discussion ensued. Leon talked of tactics, whilst 
Doctor Juillerat stuck to principles. According to the latter, the 
middle classes had had their day; they were an obstacle in the 
road of the Revolution; now that they had acquired property, they 
barred the future with greater obstinacy and blindness than the old 
nobility. 

“You are afraid of everything; you go in for the very worst 
reaction the moment you fancy yourself threatened!” 

At this Campardon flew into a passion. 

“ I, sir, have been a Jacobin and an atheist like you. But, thank 
heaven! reason came to me. No, I will not even stoop to your 
Monsieur Thiers. A blunderhead — a man who amuses himself with 
chimeras!” 

However, all the Liberals present—Monsieur Josserand, Octave, 
Trublot even, who did not care a straw, declared that they would 
vote for Monsieur Thiers. The official candidate was a great 
chocolate manufacturer of the Rue Saint-Honore, Monsieur Dewinck, 
whom they chaffed immensely. This Monsieur Dewinck had not 
even the support of the clergy, who were uneasy at his relations 
with the Tuileries. Campardon, decidedly gone over to the priests, 
greeted his name with reserve. Then, suddenly changing the 
subject, he exclaimed: 

“ Look here! the bullet which wounded your Garibaldi in the foot 
ought to have pierced his heart! ” 

And, so as not to be seen any longer in the company of these 


152 


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gentlemen, he entered the church, where the Abbe Mauduit’s shrill 
voice was responding to the lamentations of the chanters. 

“He sleeps there now,” murmured the doctor, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ Ah! what a clean sweep ought to be made of it all! ” 

The Roman question interested him immensely. Then, as Leon 
reminded them of the words of the Cabinet Minister to the Senate 
that the Empire had sprung from the Revolution, only in order to 
keep it within bounds, they returned to the coming elections. All 
were agreed upon the necessity of giving the Emperor a lesson; 
but they were beginning to be troubled with anxiety, they were 
already divided respecting the candidates, whose names gave rise 
to visions of the red specter at night time. Close to them Monsieur 
Gourd, dressed as correctly as a diplomatist, listened with supreme 
contempt to what they were saying; he was for the powers that be, 
pure and simple. 

The service was drawing to a close; a long, melancholy wail which 
issued from the depths of the church, silenced them. 

“ Requiescat in pace!” 

“ Amen /” 

Whilst the body was being lowered into the grave at the Pere- 
Lachaise cemetery, Trublot, who had not let go of Octave’s arm, 
saw him exchange another smile with Madame Juzeur. 

“Ah! yes,” murmured he, “the very unhappy little woman. 
Anything you like except that! ” 

Octave started. What! Trublot also! The latter made a ges¬ 
ture of disdain: no, not he, one of his friends. And, moreover, 
everybody who cared for that kind of thing. 

“Excuse me,” added he. “As the old fellow’s now stowed 
away, I will go and render Duveyrier an account of something which 
I undertook to see after for him. ” 

The relations were retiring, silent and doleful. Then Trublot 
detained the counselor behind the others, to tell him that he had 
seen Clarisse’s maid; but he did not know the new address, the 
maid having left Clarisse the day before she moved out, after a battle 
royal. It was the last hope which had flown. Duveyrier buried 
his face in his handkerchief, and rejoined the other relations. 

That very evening quarrels commenced, The family found itself 
in the presence of a disaster. Monsieur Yabre, with that skeptical 
carelessness which notaries occasionally display, had not left any 
will. All the furniture was ransacked in vain, and the worst was 
that there was not a rap of the expected six or seven hundred 
thousand francs, neither money, title-deeds nor shares; they dis¬ 
covered merely seven hundred and thirty-four francs in ten-sou 
pieces, the hoard of a silly, paralytic old man. And undeniable 
traces, a note-book covered with figures, letters from stockbrokers, 
opened the eyes of the next-of-kin, pale with passion, to the old 
fellow’s secret vice, an ungovernable passion for gambling, an 
unskillful and desperate craving for stock-jobbing, which he hid 
behind the innocent mania for his great statistical work. All had 


POT-BOUILLE 


153 


been engulfed, the money he had saved at Versailles, the rents of his 
house, even the sous he had sneaked from his children; and, during 
the latter years, he had gone to the point of mortgaging the house 
for one hundred and fifty thousand francs, at three different periods. 
The family stood thunder-stricken before the famous safe, in which 
it thought the fortune was locked up, but which simply contained a 
host of singular things, broken scraps picked up in the various 
rooms, pieces of old iron, fragments of glass, ends of ribbon, 
jumbled amidst wrecked toys stolen from young Gustave in bygone 
days. 

Then the most violent recriminations were indulged in. They 
called the old fellow a swindler. It was disgraceful to fritter away 
his money thus, like a sly person who does not care a straw for any 
one, and who acts an infamous comedy in order to get people to 
continue to coddle him. The Duveyriers were inconsolable at 
having boarded him for twelve years, without once asking him for 
the eighty thousand francs of Clotilde’s dowry, of which they had 
only had ten thousand francs. It was always ten thousand francs, 
rejoined Theophile, who had not had a sou of the fifty thousand 
promised him at the time of his marriage. But Auguste, in his 
turn, complained more bitterly still, reproaching his brother with 
having at least secured the interest of the money during three 
months; whilst he would never have a shadow of the fifty thousand 
francs inserted in his contract. And Berthe, incited by her mother, 
said some very unpleasant things with an indignant air at having 
entered a dishonest family. And Valerie, bemoaning the rent she 
had so long been stupid enough to pay the old chap, for fear of 
being disinherited, could not stomach it, regretting the money as 
though it had been used for an immoral purpose, employed in sup¬ 
porting debauchery. 

For fully a fortnight all these stories formed an exciting topic of 
conversation to the occupants of the house. The long and short of 
it was that there remained nothing but the building, estimated to be 
worth three hundred thousand francs; when the mortgage had been 
paid off, there would be about half that sum to divide between Monsieur 
Vabre’s three children. It was fifty thousand francs for each; a 
meager consolation, but they would have to make the most of it. 
Theophile and Auguste had already decided what they would do 
with their shares. It was settled that the building should be sold. 
Duveyrier undertook all the arrangements in his wife’s name. 
Then, on the day of the sale, after five or six bids, Maitre Renaudin 
abruptly knocked the house down to Duveyrier for the sum of one 
hundred and forty-nine thousand francs. There was not even 
sufficient to pay the mortage. It was the final blow. 

One never knew the particulars of the terrible scene which 
was enacted that same evening at the Duveyriers’. The solemn walls 
of the house stifled the sounds. Theophile most probably called his 
brother-in-law a scoundrel: he publicly accused him of having 
bought over the notary, by promising to get him appointed a justice 


154 


POT-BOUILLE 


of the peace. As for Auguste, he simply talked of the assize-court, 
where he wished to drag Maitre Renaudin, whose rogueries were the 
talk of the neighborhood. But, though one always ignored how it 
was that the relatives got to the point of knocking each other about, 
as rumor said they did, one heard the last words exchanged on the 
threshold, words which had an unpleasant ring in the respectable 
severity of the staircase. 

“ Dirty scoundrel! ” shouted Auguste. “ You sentence people to 
penal servitude who have not done nearly so much! ” 

Theophile, who came out last, held the door, whilst he almost 
choked with rage and coughing. 

“ Robber! robber! Yes, robber! And you, too, Clotilde; do you 
hear? robber! ” 

He swung the door to so roughly that all the other doors on the 
staircase shook. Monsieur Gourd, who was listening, was quite 
alarmed. He darted a searching glance at the different floors, but 
he merely caught sight of Madame Juzeur’s sharp profile. Arching 
his back, he returned on tiptoe to his room, where he resumed his 
dignified demeanor. One could deny everything. He, delighted, 
considered the new landlord in the right. 

A few days later there was a reconciliation between Auguste and 
his sister. The whole house was amazed. Octave had been seen to 
go to the Duveyriers. The counselor, feeling anxious, had agreed 
not to charge any rent for the warehouse for five years, thus shut¬ 
ting one of the grumbler’s mouths. When Theophile learnt this, he 
went with his wife and had another row, this time with his brother. 
So he had sold himself; he had gone over to the bandits! But 
Madame Josserand happened to be in the shop, and he was soon 
shut up. She plainly advised Valerie not to sell herself any more 
than her daughter had sold herself. And Valerie had to beat a 
retreat, exclaiming: 

“ Then, we’re the only ones who get nothing ? May the devil take 
me if I pay my rent! I’ve a lease. The convict won’t dare to turn 
us out. And as for you, my little Berthe, we’ll see one day what it’ll 
cost to have you! ” 

The doors banged again. The two families were sworn enemies 
for life. Octave, who had rendered some services, was present, and 
entered into the private affairs of the family. Berthe almost fainted 
in his arms, whilst Auguste was ascertaining whether the customers 
had overheard anything. Even Madame Josserand confided in the 
young man. She, moreover, continued to judge the Duveyriers very 
severely. 

u The rent is something,” said she. “ But I want the fifty thou¬ 
sand francs. ” 

“ Of course, if you paid yours,” Berthe ventured to observe. 

The mother did not appear to understand. 

“ You hear me, I want them! No, no; he must be laughing too 
much in his grave, that old scoundrel Vabre. I will not let him 
boast of having taken me in. What rascals there are in the world! 


POT-BOUILLE 


155 


to promise money one does not possess! Oil! they will pay you, my 
daughter, or I will dig him up again and spit in his face! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

One morning that Berthe happened to he at her mother’s, Adele 
came and said with a scared look that Monsieur Saturnin was there 
with a man. Doctor Chassagne, the director of the Asile des Mou- 
lineaux, had already warned the parents several times that he would 
be unable to keep their son, for he did not consider him sufficiently 
mad. And, hearing of the signature which Berthe had obtained 
from her brother for the three thousand francs, dreading being com¬ 
promised in the matter, he suddenly sent him home to his family. 

It created quite a scare. Madame Josserand, who was afraid 
of being strangled, wished to argue with the man. But all she 
could get out of him was : 

u The director told me to inform you that when one is suffi¬ 
ciently sensible to give money to one’s parents, one is sensible 
enough to live with them. ” 

“ But he is mad, sir! he will murder us.” 

“ Anyhow, he is not too mad to sign his name! ’’answered the man, 
going off. 

However, Saturnin came home very quietly, with his hands in 
his pockets, just as though he had returned from a stroll in the 
Tuileries gardens. He did not even allude to where he had been 
staying. He embraced his father, who was crying, and likewise 
heartily kissed his mother and his sister Hortense, whilst they both 
trembled tremendously. Then, when he caught sight of Berthe, he 
was indeed delighted, and caressed her with all the pretty ways of 
a little boy. She at once took advantage of his affected and con¬ 
fused condition to inform him of her marriage. He displayed no 
anger, not appearing at first to understand, as though he had for¬ 
gotten his former fits of passion. But when she wished to return to 
her home down-stairs, he began to howl; he did not mind whether 
she was married or not, so long as she remained where she was, 
always with him and close to him. Then, seeing her mother’s 
frightened looks as she ran and locked herself in another room, 
it occurred to Berthe to take Saturnin to live with her. They 
would be able to find him something to do in the basement of the 
warehouse, though it were only to tie up parcels. 

That same evening, Auguste, in spite of his evident repugnance, 
acceded to Berthe’s desire. They had scarcely been married three 
months and a secret disunion was already cropping up between 
them; it was the collision of two different constitutions and educa¬ 
tions, a surly, fastidious and passionless husband, and a lively 



156 


POT-BOUILLE 


woman who had been reared in the hot-house of false Parisian lux¬ 
ury, who played fast and loose with existence, so as to enjoy it all 
alone like a spoiled and selfish child. 

The husband’s main revolts were on account of these too glaring 
costumes, the usefulness of which he was unable to see. Why dress 
himself thus above one’s means and position in life ? What need 
was there to spend in such a manner the money that was so neces¬ 
sary for his business ? He generally said that when one sold silks 
to other women, one should wear woolens oneself. 

As a result of matrimony, Berthe was gradually acquiring her 
mother’s build. She was growing fatter, and resembled her more 
than she had ever done before. She was no longer the girl who did 
not seem to care about anything and who quietly submitted to the 
maternal cuffs; she had grown into a woman, who was rapidly 
becoming more obstinate every day, and who had formed the inten¬ 
tion of making everything bow to her pleasure. Auguste looked 
at her. at times, astounded at such a sudden change. At 
first, she had felt a vain joy in throning herself at the cashier’s 
desk, in a studied costume of elegant simplicity. Then she had 
soon wearied of trade, suffering from constant want of exercise, 
threatening to fall ill, yet resigning herself to it all the same, but 
with the attitude of a victim who sacrifices her life to the prosperity 
of her home. And, from that moment, a struggle at every hour of 
the day had commenced between her and her husband. She 
shrugged her shoulders behind his back, the same as her mother 
did behind her father’s; she went again through all the family 
quarrels which had disturbed her youth, treating her husband as 
the gentleman who had simply got to pay, overwhelming him with 
that contempt for the male sex which was, so to say, the basis of 
her education. 

“ Ah! mamma was right! ” she would exclaim after each of their 
quarrels. 

Yet, in the early days, Auguste had tried to please her. He liked 
peace, he longed for a quiet little home, he already had his whims 
like an old man, and had got thoroughly into the habits of his chaste 
and economical bachelor life. His old lodging on the “ entresol ” 
no longer sufficing, he had taken the suite of apartments on the 
second floor, overlooking the courtyard, and thought himself suffi¬ 
ciently insane in spending five thousand francs on furniture. Berthe, 
at first delighted with her room upholstered in thuja and blue silk, 
had shown the greatest contempt for it after visiting a friend who 
had just married a banker. Then quarrels arose with respect to 
the servants. The young woman, used to the waiting of poor semi- 
idiotic girls, who had their bread even cut for them, insisted on 
their doing things which set them crying in their kitchens for after¬ 
noons together. Auguste, not particularly tender-hearted as a rule, 
having imprudently gone and consoled one, had to turn her out of 
the place an hour later on account of madame’s tears, and her 
request that he should choose between her and that creature. 


POT-BOUILLE 


157 


Afterward a wench had come who appeared to have made up her 
mind to stop. Her name was Rachel, and she was probably a 
Jewess, but she denied it, and let no one know whence she had 
sprung. She was about twenty-five years old, with harsh features, 
a large nose, and very black hair. At first, Berthe declared that 
she would not allow her to stop two days; then, in presence of her 
dumb obedience, her air of understanding and saying nothing, she 
had little by little allowed herself to be satisfied, as though she had 
yielded in her turn, and was keeping her for her good qualities, and 
also through an unavowed fear. Rachel, who submitted without a 
murmur to the hardest tasks, accompanied by dry bread, took 
possession of the establishment, with her eyes open and her mouth 
shut, like a servant of foresight biding the fatal and foreseen hour 
when her mistress would be able to refuse her nothing. 

Meanwhile, from the ground floor of the house to the servants’ 
story, a great calm had succeeded to the emotions caused by Mon¬ 
sieur Vabre’s sudden death. The staircase had again become as 
peaceful as a church; not a breath issued from behind the mahogany 
doors, which were forever closed upon the profound respectability 
of the various homes. There was a rumor that Duveyrier had 
become reconciled with his wife. As for Valerie and Theophile, 
they spoke to no one, but passed by stiff and dignified. Never 
before had the house exhaled a more strict severity of principles. 
Monsieur Gourd, in his cap and slippers, wandered about it with 
the air of a solemn beadle. 

One evening, toward eleven o’clock, Auguste continued going 
to the door of the warehouse, stretching his head out, and glancing 
up and down the street. An impatience which had increased little 
by little was agitating him. Berthe, whom her mother and sister 
had fetched away during dinner, without even giving her time to 
finish her dessert, had not returned home after an absence of more 
than three hours, and in spite of her distinct promise to be back by 
closing time. 

“ Ah! good heavens! good heavens ! ” he ended by saying, clasp¬ 
ing his hands together, and making his fingers crack. 

And he stood still before Octave, who was ticketing some rem¬ 
nants of silk on a counter. At that late hour of the evening, no 
customer ever appeared in that out-of-the-way end of the Rue de 
Choiseul. The shop was merely kept open to put things straight. 

“ Surely you know where the ladies have gone ? ” inquired 
Auguste of the young man. 

The latter raised his eyes with an innocent and surprised air. 

“ But, sir, they told you. To a lecture. ” 

“ A lecture, a lecture, ” grumbled the husband. “Their lecture 
was over at ten o’clock. Respectable women should be home at 
this hour! ” 

Then he resumed his walk, casting side glances at his assistant, 
whom he suspected of being an accomplice of the ladies, or at least 
of excusing them. Octave, also feeling anxious, slyly observed 


158 


POT-BOUILLE 


him. He had never before seen him so nervously excited. What 
was it all about? And, as he turned his head, he caught sight of 
Saturnin at the other end of the shop cleaning a looking-glass with 
a sponge dipped in spirit. Little by little, the family set the mad¬ 
man to do housework, so that he might at least earn his food. But 
that evening Saturnin’s eyes sparkled strangely. He crept behind 
Octave, and said, in a very low voice : 

“ Beware of him. He has found a paper. Yes, he has a paper in 
his pocket. Look out, if it’s anything of yours! ” 

And he quickly resumed rubbing his glass. Octave did not under¬ 
stand. For some time past the madman had been displaying a sin¬ 
gular affection for him, like the caress of an animal yielding to an 
instinct. Why did he speak to him of a paper ? He had written no 
letter to Berthe; as yet he only ventured to look at her with tender 
glances, watching for an opportunity of making her some trifling 
present. It was a tactic he had adopted after deep reflection. 

“ Ten minutes past eleven ! — damnation ! damnation! ” suddenly 
exclaimed Auguste, who never swore. 

But at that very moment the ladies returned. Berthe had' on a 
delicious dress, of pink silk, embroidered over with white jet, whilst 
her sister, always in blue, and her mother, always in mauve, still 
wore their glaring and laboriously obtained costumes, altered every 
season. Madame Josserand, broad and imposing, entered first, so 
as at once to nip in the bud the reproaches winch all three had just 
foreseen, at a council held at the end of the street, her son-in-law 
would begin to make. She even deigned to explain that they were 
late through having loitered before the shop-windows. But 
Auguste, who was very pale, did not utter a single complaint; he 
answered curtly; it was evident he was keeping it in and waiting. 
For a moment longer, the mother, who felt the coming storm through 
her great knowledge of domestic broils, tried to intimidate him; 
then she was obliged to go up-stairs, merely adding: 

“ Good night, my child. And sleep well, you know, if you wish to 
live long.” 

Directly she had gone, Auguste, losing all patience, forgetting that 
Octave and Saturnin were present, withdrew a crumpled paper from 
his pocket, and thrust it under Berthe’s nose, whilst he stammered 
out: 

“ What’s that? 

Berthe had not even had time to take her bonnet off. She turned 
very red. 

“ That ? ” said she; u why, it’s a bill! ” 

u Yes, a bill! and for false hair, too! Is it possible? for hair! as 
though you had none left on your head! But that’s not all. You’ve 
paid the bill; tell me, what did you pay it with ? ” 

• The young woman, becoming more and more confused, ended by 
replying: 

“ With my own money, of course! ” 

“ Your money! but you haven’t any. Some one must have given 


P0T-B0U1LLE 


159 


you some, or else you have taken it from here. And, listen! I know 
all; you’re in debt. I will tolerate what you like; but no debts, 
understand me, no debts! — never! w 

And he put into these words all the horror of a prudent fellow, all 
his commercial integrity, which consisted in never owing anything. 
For a long while he relieved his pent-up feelings, reproaching his 
wife with her constant goings-out, her visits all over Paris, her 
dresses, her luxury, which he could not provide for. Was it sensible 
for people in their position to stop out till eleven o’clock at night, 
with pink silk dresses embroidered with white jet ? When one had 
such tastes as those, one should bring five hundred thousand francs 
as a marriage portion. Moreover, he knew who was the guilty one; 
it was the silly mother who brought up her daughters to squander 
fortunes, without even being able to give them so much as a chemise 
on their wedding-day. 

“ Don’t say a word against mamma! ” cried Berthe, raising her 
head and thoroughly exasperated at last. “No one can reproach 
her with anything; she has done her duty. And your family—it’s 
a nice one! People who killed their father! ” 

Octave had buried himself in his tickets, and pretended not to 
hear. But he followed the quarrel from out of the corner of his eye, 
and especially watched Saturnin, who was all in a tremble, and had 
left off rubbing the glass, his fists clenched, his eyes glaring, ready 
to spring at the husband’s throat. 

“ Let us leave our families alone, ” resumed the latter. “We have 
quite enough with our own home. Listen! you must alter your 
ways, for I will not give another sou for all this tomfoolery. Oh ! I 
have quite made up my mind. Tour place is here at the till, in a 
quiet dress, like a woman who has some respect for herself. And if 
you incur any more debts, we’ll see. ” 

Berthe was almost stifling, in presence of that brutal husband’s 
foot set down upon her habits, her pleasures, and her dresses. It 
was the extinction of all she loved, of all she had dreamed of when 
marrying. But, with a woman’s tactics, she hid the wound from 
which her heart was bleeding; she gave a pretext to the passion 
which was swelling her face, and repeated more violently than ever: 

“ I will not permit you to insult mamma ! ” 

Auguste shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Your mother! Listen? you’re like her, you’re quite ugly, when 
you put yourself in that state. Yes, I scarcely know you; it is she 
herself. On my word, it quite frightens me ! ” 

At this, Berthe calmed down, and, looking him full in the face, 
exclaimed: 

“ Only go and tell mamma what you were saying just now, and 
see how quickly she’ll show you the door. ” 

“ Ah! she’ll show me the door! ” yelled the husband, in a fury. 
“ Well, then ! I’ll go up and tell her at once. ” 

And he did indeed move toward the door. It was time he went, 
for Saturnin, with his wolf-like eyes, was treacherously advancing 


60 


POT-BOUILLU 


o strangle him from behind. The young woman had dropped into 

chair, where she was murmuring, in a low voice: 

“ Ah! good heavens! I’d take care not to marry him, if I had 
ay choice over again! ” 

Up-stairs, Monsieur Josserand, greatly surprised, answered the 
oor, Adele having just gone up to bed. As he was then preparing 
o pass the night in addressing wrappers, in spite of the ill-health 
he had been lately complaining of, it was with a certain embarrass¬ 
ment, a shame at being found out, that he ushered his son-in-law 
into the dining-room; and he spoke of some pressing work, a copy 
of the last inventory of the Saint Joseph glass factory. But, when 
Auguste deliberately accused his daughter, reproaching her with 
running into debt, relating all the quarrel brought about by the 
matter of the false hair, the poor old man’s hands were seized with 
a nervous trembling. Struck to the heart, he could only manage to 
stammer out a few words, whilst his eyes filled with tears. His 
daughter in debt, living as he had lived himself, in the midst of 
constant matrimonial squabbles ! All the unhappiness of his life was 
then going to be gone through again in the person of his daughter! 
And another fear almost froze him on his chair: he dreaded every 
minute to hear his son-in-law broach the money question, demand 
the dowry, and call him a thief. No doubt the young man knew 
everything, as he burst in upon them at past eleven o’clock at 
night. 

“ My wife is going to bed, ” stammered he, his head in a whirl. 

“ It is useless to disturb her, is it not ? I am really amazed at the 
things you have told me! Poor Berthe is not wicked, though, I 
assure you. Be indulgent. I will speak to her. As for ourselves, 
my dear Auguste, we have done nothing, I think, which can dis¬ 
please you. ” 

And he sounded him, so to speak, with his glance, already reas¬ 
sured, as he saw that he could know nothing as yet, when Madame 
Josserand appeared on the threshold of the bed-room. She was in 
her night-gown, all white and terrible. Auguste, though greatly 
excited, drew back. No doubt she had been listening at the door, 
for she commenced with a direct thrust. 

“ It’s not your ten thousand francs you’ve come for, I suppose ? 
There are still two months before the time they become due. And 
in two months’ time we will pay them to you, sir. We don’t die to 
get out of our engagements. ” 

This superb assurance completely overwhelmed Monsieur Josser¬ 
and. However, Madame Josserand continued dumbfounding her. 
son-in-law by the most extraordinary declarations, without allow¬ 
ing him time to speak. 

“ You’re by no means smart, sir. When you’ve made Berthe ill, 
you’ll have to call in the doctor, and that will occasion some expense 
at the chemist’s, and it will still be you who’ll have to pay. A little 
while ago, I went off, when I saw that you were bent on making a 
fool of yourself. Do as you like! Beat your wife, my maternal 


POT-BOTJILLE 


161 


heart is easy, for G-od is watching, and retribution is never long in 
coming! ” 

At length Auguste was able to state his grievances. He returned 
to the constant goings-out, the dresses, and was even so bold as to 
condemn the way in which Berthe had been brought up. Madame 
Josserand listened to him with an air of supreme contempt. Then, 
when he had finished, she retorted: 

“ What you say is so absurd that it does not deserve an answer, 
my dear fellow! I’ve my conscience, and that suffices me. A man 
to whom I confided an angel! Fll have nothing more to do with 
the matter, as I’m insulted. Settle it between yourselves. ” 

“But your daughter will end by deceiving me, madame!” 
exclaimed Auguste, again overcome with passion. 

Madame Josserand, who was going off, turned round, and looked 
him full in the face. 

“ You’re doing all you can to bring such a thing about, sir.” 

And she retired into her room with the dignity of a colossal 
triple-breasted Ceres draped in white. 

The father kept Auguste a few minutes longer. He was concili¬ 
atory, giving him to understand that with women it was best to put 
up with everything, and finally sent him off calmed and resolved to 
forgive. But when the poor old man found himself alone again in 
the dining-room, seated in front of his little lamp, he burst into tears. 
It was all over; there was no longer any happiness; he would never 
have time enough of a night to address sufficient wrappers to enable 
him to assist his daughter clandestinely. The thought that his 
child might run into debt crushed him like some personal fault. 
And he felt ill; he had just received another blow; strength would 
fail him one of those nights. At length, restraining his tears, he 
painfully recommenced his work. 

Down-stairs in the shop, her face buried in her hands, Berthe had 
remained for a while immovable. After putting up the shutters, 
the porter had returned to the basement. Then Octave thought he 
might approach the young woman. Ever since the husband’s 
departure, Saturnin had been making signs to him over his sister’s 
head, as though inviting him to console her. Now he was beaming 
and multiplied his winks; fearing that he was not understood, he 
emphasized his advice by blowing kisses into space, with a child’s 
overflowing effusion. 

“ What! you want me to kiss her? ” asked Octave by signs. 

“ Yes, yes,” replied the madman, with an enthusiastic nod of the 
head. 

And, when he beheld the young man smiling before his sister, 
who had noticed nothing, he seated himself on the floor, behind a 
counter, hiding, so as not to be in their way. In the profound silence 
of the closed warehouse the gas-jets were still burning with tall 
flames. There reigned a death-like peacefulness, a closeness of at- 
mosph A r° rvr ' ’ ' le unsavory odor of the dressed silk. 


162 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Do not take it so muck to heart, madame, I beg of you,” said 
Octave, in his caressing tones. 

She started at finding him so close to her. 

“ Excuse me, Monsieur Octave. It is not my fault that you assisted 
at this painful scene. And I must ask you to excuse my husband, 
for he could not have been very well this evening. You know that 
in all families there are little unpleasantnesses-” 

Sobs choked her utterance. The mere idea of extenuating her 
husband’s faults before the world had brought on a copious flood of 
tears, which quite unnerved her. Saturnin raised his anxious face 
on a level with the counter; but he dived down again directly he 
saw Octave take hold of his sister’s hand. 

“ I beg of you, madame, summon up a little courage,” said the 
assistant. 

“ No, I cannot help it,” stammered she. “ You were there — 
you heard everything. For ninety-five francs’ worth of hair! As 
though all women did not wear false hair now! But he knows 
nothing — he understands nothing. He knows no more about wo¬ 
men than the Grand Turk; he has never had anything to do with 
them, no never, Monsieur Octave ! Ah! I am very miserable! ” 

She said all this in her feverish spite. A man whom she pretended 
she had married for love, and who would soon allow her to go with¬ 
out a chemise! Did she not fulfill her duties ? Had he the least neg¬ 
ligence to reproach her with ? If he had not flown into a passion 
on the day when she asked him for some hair, she would never have 
been reduced to the necessity of paying for it out of her own pocket! 
And for the least thing there was the same story over again ; she 
could never express a wish, desire the most insignificant article of 
dress, without coming into contact with his ferocious sullenness. 
She naturally had her pride, so she no longer asked for anything, 
preferring to go without necessaries rather than to humiliate herself 
to no purpose. Thus, for a fortnight past, she had been ardently 
longing for a fancy set of ornaments which she had seen with her 
mother in a jeweler’s window in the Palais-Royal. 

“ You know, three stars in paste for the hair. Oh! a mere trifle 
— a hundred francs, I think. Well! although I spoke of them from 
morning till night, don’t imagine that my husband understood! ” 

Octave would never have dared to hope for such an opportunity. 
He hastened matters. 

“ Yes, yes, I know. You mentioned the subject several times in 
my presence. And, dear me ! madame, your parents received me so 
well; you yourself have welcomed me so kindly, that I thought I- 
might venture-” 

As he spoke he withdrew from his pocket an oblong box, in which 
the three stars were sparkling on some cotton wool. Berthe had 
risen from her seat, deeply affected. 

“ But it is impossible, sir. I will not—you were very wrong 
indeed. ” 

He pretended to be very simple, inventing various pretexts. In 


POT-BOUILLE 


163 


the South such things were done constantly. And, besides, the 
ornaments were of no value whatever. She had turned quite rosy, 
and was no longer weeping, whilst her eyes, fixed on the box, 
acquired a fresh luster from the sparkling of the imitation gems. 

“ I beg of you, madame. Just to show me that you are satisfied 
with my work. ” 

“ No, really, Monsieur Octave; do not insist. You pain me. ” 

Saturnin had reappeared, and he looked at the jewels in 
ecstasy, as though he were beholding some reliquary. But his sharp 
ear heard Auguste’s returning footsteps. He warned Berthe by 
making a slight noise with his tongue. Then the latter came to a 
decision just as her husband was about to enter. 

“ Well! listen,” murmured she rapidly, popping the box into her 
pocket, “ I’ll say that my sister Hortense made me a present of 
them.” 

Auguste gave orders for the gas to be turned out, and then went 
up with her to bed, without saying a word about the quarrel, 
delighted at heart at finding her all right again and very lively, as 
though nothing had taken place between them. The warehouse 
became wrapped in intense darkness; and, just as Octave was also 
retiring, he felt hot hands squeezing his own almost sufficient to 
crush them in the obscurity. It was Saturnin, who slept in the 
basement. 

“Friend — friend—friend,” repeated the madman,with an out¬ 
burst of wild tenderness. 

Disconcerted in his expectations, Octave little by little became 
seized with a young and x>assionate desire for Berthe. If he had at 
first been merely following his old plan, his wish to succeed by the 
aid of women, he now no longer beheld in her the employer simply, 
whose possession would place the whole establishment in his hands; 
he desired above all the Parisian, that adorable creature of luxury 
and grace, which he had never had an opportunity of tasting at 
Marseilles; he felt a sudden hunger for her little gloved hands, her 
tiny feet encased in high-heeled boots, her delicate neck hidden by 
gewgaws, even for the questionable unseen, the make-shifts which, 
he suspected, were covered by her gorgeous costumes; and this 
sudden attack of passion went so far as to get the better of his 
shrewd economical nature to the extent of causing him to squander 
in presents and all sorts of other expenses the five thousand francs 
which he had brought with him from the South, and had already 
doubled by financial operations which he never mentioned to any¬ 
body. 

On the morrow of the quarrel, Octave, delighted at having pre¬ 
vailed on the young woman to accept his present, thought that it 
would be well for him to ingratiate himself with the husband. 
Therefore, as he took his meals at his employer’s table — the latter 
being in the habit of feeding his assistants, so as always to have 
them at hand — he showed him the utmost attention, listened to 
him at desserts and warmly approved all he said. He even went so 


1C4 


POT-BOUILLE 


far in private as to appear to sympathize with his complaints against 
his wife, pretending, too, to watch her, and making him little 
reports. Auguste felt greatly touched; he admitted one night to 
the young man that he had been on the point of discharging him, 
under the idea that he was conniving with his mother-in-law. 

“ You understand me, you do! ” he would say to the young man. 
“ I merely want peace. Beyond that I don’t care a hang, virtue 
excepted, of course, and providing my wife doesn’t carry off the cash- 
box. Eh? am I not reasonable? I don’t ask her for anything 
extraordinary ? ” 

And Octave lauded his wisdom, and they celebrated together the 
sweetness of an uneventful existence, year after year, always the 
same, passed in measuring off silk. One evening he had alarmed 
Auguste by reverting to his dream of vast modern bazars, and by 
advising him, as he had advised Madame Hedouin, to purchase the 
adjoining house, so as to enlarge his premises. Auguste, whose head 
was already splitting between his four counters, had looked at him 
with the frightened air of a tradesman accustomed to dividing far¬ 
things into four, that he had hastened to withdraw his sugges¬ 
tion and to go into raptures over the honest security of small 
dealings. 

Days passed by; Octave was making his little nest in the place, a 
cozy nest lined with wool which would keep him nice and warm. 
The husband esteemed him; Madame Josserand herself, with whom, 
however, he avoided being too polite, looked at him encouragingly. 
As for Berthe, she was becoming charmingly familiar with him. But 
his great friend was Saturnin, whose dumb affection he felt was 
increasing daily — a faithful dog’s devotion which grew as his long¬ 
ing for the young woman became more intense. Toward every one 
else the madman displayed a gloomy jealousy; a man could not 
approach his sister without his becoming at once uneasy, curling up 
his lips, and preparing to bite. But if, on the contrary, Octave leant 
freely toward her, and caused her to laugh with the soft and tender 
laughter of a happy mistress, he laughed himself with delight, and 
his face reflected a little of their sensual joy. The poor creature 
seemed to feel a gratitude full of happiness for the chosen lover. 
He would detain the latter in all the corners, casting mistrustful 
glances about; then, if he found they were alone, he would speak to 
him of her, always repeating the same stories in broken phrases. 

“ When she was little, she had tiny limbs as large as that; and 
already plump, and quite rosy, and so gay; then, she used to sprawl 
about on the floor. It amused me; I would go down on my knees 
and watch her. Then, bang! bang! bang! she would kick me in 
the stomach, and I would be so pleased, oh! so pleased! ” 

Octave thus learnt all about Berthe’s childhood, with its little ail¬ 
ments, its playthings, its growth of a charming, uncontrolled little 
creature. 

His eyes lighted up; he laughed and cried, just as though these 
events had occurred the day before. From his broken sentences the 


POT-BOUILLE 


165 


history of this strange affection could be spun together: his poor, 
half-witted devotion at the little patient’s bedside, when she had 
been given up by the doctors, his heart and body devoted to the 
dying darling, whom he nursed in her nudity with all the tender¬ 
ness of a mother; his affection and his desires had been arrested 
there, checked forevermore by this drama of suffering, from the 
shock of which he never recovered; and, from that time, in spite of 
the ingratitude which followed the recovery, Berthe remained every¬ 
thing to him, a mistress before whom he trembled, a child and a 
sister whom he had saved from death, an idol which he worshiped 
with a jealous adoration. So that he pursued the husband with the 
furious hatred of a displeased lover, never at a loss for ill-natured 
remarks as he opened his heart to Octave. 

“ He’s got his eye bunged up again. His headache’s becoming a 
nuisance!—You heard him dragging his feet about yesterday— 
Look, there he is squinting into the street. Eh ? isn’t he a fool ? — 
Dirty beast, dirty beast! ” 

And Auguste could scarcely move without angering the madman. 
Then would come the disquieting proposals. 

“ If you like, we’ll bleed him like a pig between us. ” 

Octave would calm him. Then, on his quiet days, Saturnin would 
go from Octave to the young woman, with an air of delight, repeat¬ 
ing what one had said about the other, doing their errands, and act¬ 
ing like a continual bond of tenderness between them. He would 
have thrown himself on the floor at their feet, to serve them as a 
carpet. 

Berthe had not again alluded to the present. She di<J not seem 
to notice Octave’s trembling attentions, but treated him as a 
friend, without the least confusion. He had never before been so 
careful in his dress, and he was ever caressing her with his eyes of the 
color of old gold, and whose velvety softness he deemed irresistible. 

One day, however, she experienced a great emotion. On return¬ 
ing from a dog-show, Octave beckoned to her to descend to the 
basement; and there handed her a bill, amounting to sixty-two 
francs, for some embroidered stockings which had been brought 
during her absence. She turned quite pale, and in a cry that came 
from her heart, at once asked: 

“ Good heavens! has my husband seen this? ” 

He hastened to set her mind at rest, telling her what trouble he 
had had to get hold of the bill under Auguste’s very nose. Then, 
in an embarrassed way, he was obliged to add in a low voice: 

“ I paid it.” 

Then she made a show of feeling in her pockets, and, finding 
nothing, said simply: 

“ I will pay you back. Ah! what thanks I owe you, Monsieur 
Octave! It would have killed me if Auguste had seen this. ” 

And, this time, she took hold of both his hands, and for a moment 
held them pressed between her own. But the sixty-two franco were 
never again mentioned. 


166 


POT-BOUILLE 


Thus, little by little, the breach between the couple widened, in 
spite of the husband’s efforts, he being desirous of having no dis¬ 
turbance in his existence. He desperately defended his desire for a 
somnolent and idiotic peacefulness, he closed his eyes to small 
faults, and even stomached some big ones, with the constant dread 
of discovering something abominable which would drive him into a 
furious passion. He therefore tolerated Berthe’s lies, by which she 
attributed to her sister’s or her mother’s affection a host of little 
things, the purchase of which she could not have otherwise explained; 
he even no longer grumbled overmuch when she went out of an 
eveniug, thus enabling Octave to take her twice privately to the 
theater, accompanied by Madame Josserand and Hortense; delight¬ 
ful outings, after which these ladies agreed together that the young 
man knew how to live. 

It was on a Saturday that a frightful quarrel occurred between 
the husband and wife, with respect to twenty sous which were 
deficient in Rachel’s accounts. While Berthe was balancing up the 
book, Auguste brought, according to his custom, the money necessary 
for the household expenses of the ensuing week. The Josserands 
were to dine there that evening, and the kitchen was littered with 
things—a rabbit, a leg of mutton, and some cauliflowers. Saturnin, 
squatting on the tiled floor beside the sink, was blacking his sister’s 
shoes and his brother-in-law’s boots. The quarrel began with long 
arguments respecting the twenty sou piece. What had become of 
it ? How could one mislay twenty sous ? Auguste would go over 
all the additions again. During this time, Rachel, always pliant in 
spite of her harsh looks, her mouth closed but her eyes on the watch, 
was quietly spitting the leg of mutton. At length he gave fifty 
francs, and was on the point of going down-stairs again, when he 
returned, worried by the thought of the missing coin. 

“ It must be found, though, ” said he. “ Perhaps you borrowed it 
of Rachel, and have forgotten doing so. ” 

Berthe felt greatly hurt at this. 

11 Accuse me of cooking the accounts! Ah ! you are nice!” 

Everything started from that, and they soon came to high words. 
Auguste, in spite of his desire to purchase peace at a dear price, 
became aggressive, excited by the sight of the rabbit, the leg of 
mutton and the cauliflowers, beside himself before the pile of food, 
which she was going to thrust all at once under her parents’ noses. 
He looked through the account book, expressing astonishment at 
almost every item. It was incredible! She must be in league with 
the servant to make something on the marketing. 

“I! I!” exclaimed the young woman, thoroughly exasperated ; 
“1 in league with the servant! But it’s you, sir, who pay her to spy 
upon me! Yes, I am forever feeling her about me; I can’t move a 
step without encountering her eyes. Ah! she may watch me through 
the key-hole, when I’m changing my under-linen. I do no harm, 
and I don’t care a straw for your system of police. Only, don’t you 
dare to reproach me with being in league with her,” 


POT-BOUILLE 


This unexpected attack quite dumbfounded the husbai 
moment. Rachel turned round, still holding the leg of 
and, placing her hand upon her heart, she protested. 

“ Oh! madame, how can you think so ? I who respect i 
so much 1” 

“She’s mad!” said Auguste, shrugging his shoulders, 
take the trouble to defend yourself, my girl. She’s mad!” 

But a noise behind his back caused him some anxiety. 
Saturnin, who had violently thrown down one of the half¬ 
shoes to fly to his sister’s assistance. With a terrible expression m 
his face and his fists clenched, he stuttered out that he would 
strangle the dirty rascal if he again called her mad. Thoroughly 
frightened, Auguste sought refuge behind the filter, calling out: 

“ It’s really become unbearable; I can no longer make a remark 
to you without his thrusting himself in between us ! I allowed him 
to come here, but he must leave me alone ! He’s another nice 
present of your mother’s! She was frightened to death of him, 
and so she saddled him on me, preferring to see me murdered in her 
stead. Thanks for nothing! He’s got a knife now. Do make him 
desist!” 

Berthe disarmed her brother, and calmed him with a look, whilst 
Auguste, who had turned very pale, continued to mumble angry 
words. Always knives being caught up! An injury is so soon done; 
and, with a madman, one could do nothing; justice would even 
refuse to avenge it! In short, it was not proper to make a body¬ 
guard of such a brother, rendering a husband powerless, even in 
circumstances of the most legitimate indignation, going as far as 
forcing him to submit to his shame. 

“ You’ve no tact, sir,” declared Berthe, disdainfully. “ A gentle¬ 
man would not discuss such matters in a kitchen.” 

And she withdrew to her room, slamming the doors behind her. 
Rachel had returned to the roaster, as though no longer hearing the 
quarrel between her master and mistress. 

“Do understand, my dear, ” said Auguste to Berthe, whom he 
had rejoined in the bed-room, “ it was not in reference to you that 
I spoke, it was for that girl who robs us. Those twenty sous ought 
certainly to be found. ” 

The young woman trembled nervously with exasperation. She 
looked him full in the face, very pale and resolute. 

“ Will you leave off bothering me about your twenty sous f It’s 
not twenty sous I want, it’s five hundred francs a month. Yes, five 
hundred francs for my dress. Ah! you discuss money matters in 
the kitchen, before the servant ! Well! that has decided me to 
discuss them also! I’ve been restraining myself for a long time 
past. I want five hundred francs. ” 

He stood aghast at such a demand. And she commenced the 
grand quarrel which, during twenty years, her mother had picked 
with her father, regularly every fortnight. Did he expect to see 
her walk about barefoot? When one married a woman, one should 


168 


POT-BOUILLE 




at least arrange to clothe and feed her decently. She would sooner 
beg than resign herself to such a pauper existence! It was not her 
fault if he proved incapable of managing his business properly; 
oh ! yes, incapable, without ideas or initiative, only knowing how to 
split farthings into four. A man who ought to have made it his 
glory to acquire a fortune quickly, so as to dress her like a queen, 
and make the people of The “ Ladies’ Paradise ” die with rage! 
But no! with such a poor head as his, bankruptcy was sure to come 
sooner or later. And from this flow of words emerged the respect, 
the furious appetite for money, all that worship of wealth, the 
adoration of which she had learnt in her family, when beholding 
the mean tricks to which one stoops, merely to appear to possess it. 

“Five hundred francs!” said Auguste at length. “I would 
sooner shut up the shop.” 

She looked at him coldly. 

“ You refuse. Very well, I will run up bills.” 

“ More debts, you wretched woman 1 ” 

In a sudden violent movement, he seized her by the arms, and 
pushed her against the wall. Then, without a cry, choking with 
passion, she ran and opened the window, as though to throw her¬ 
self out; but she retraced her steps, and pushing him in her turn 
toward the door, turned him out of the room gasping : 

“ Go away, or I shall do you an injury! ” 

And she noisily pushed the bolt behind his back. For a moment 
he listened and hesitated. Then he hastened to go down to the 
warehouse, again seized with terror, as he beheld Saturnin’s eyes 
gleaming in the shadow, the noise of the short struggle having 
brought him from the kitchen. 

Down-stairs, Octave, who was selling silk handkerchiefs to an 
old lady, at once noticed his agitated appearance. The assistant 
looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he feverishly paced up 
and down before the counters. When the customer had gone, 
Auguste’s heart quite overflowed. “ My dear fellow, she’s going 
mad,” said he without naming his wife. “ She has shut herself in. 
You ought to oblige me by going up and speaking to her. I fear 
an accident, on my word of honor, I do! ” 

The young man pretended to hesitate. It was such a delicate 
matter! Finally, he agreed to do so out of pure devotion. 
Up-stairs, he found Saturnin keeping guard before Berthe’s door. 
On hearing footsteps, the madman uttered a menacing grunt. But 
when he recognized the assistant, his face brightened. 

“ Ah! yes, you,” murmured he. “ You’re all right. She mustn’t 
cry. Be nice, say something to her. And you know, stop there. 
There’s no danger. I’m here. If the servant tries to peep, I’ll 
settle her.” 

And he squatted down on the floor, guarding the door. As he 
still held one of his brother-in-law’s boots, he commenced to polish 
it, to pass away the time. 

Octave made up his mind to knock. No answer, not a sound. 


POT-BOUILLE 


169 


Then he gave his name. The bolt was at once drawn. And, 
opening the door slightly, Berthe begged him to enter. Then she 
closed and bolted it again with a nervous hand. 

“ I don’t mind you,” said she; “ but I won’t have him ! ” 

She paced the room, carried away by passion, going from the 
bedstead to the window, which still remained open. And she mut¬ 
tered disconnected sentences: he might entertain her parents at 
dinner, if he liked; yes, he could account to them for her absence, 
for she would not appear at the table; she would sooner die! 
Besides, she preferred to go to bed. With her feverish hands, she 
already began to tear off the quilt, shake up the pillows, and 
turn down the sheet, forgetful of Octave’s presence to the extent 
that she was about to unhook her dress. Then she jumped to 
another idea. 

“ Just fancy! He beat me, beat me, beat me! And only 
because, ashamed of always going about in rags, I asked him for 
five hundred francs ! ” 

Octave, standing up in the middle of the room, tried to find some 
conciliating words. She was wrong to allow it to upset her so much. 
Everything would come right again. And he ended by timidly 
offering her assistance. 

“ If you are worried about any bill, why not apply to your friends? 
I should be so pleased! Oh! simply a loan. You could return it 
to me some other time. ” 

She looked at him. After a pause, she replied: 

“Never! it cannot be. What would people think, Monsieur 
Octave? ” 

Her refusal was so decided that there was no further question of 
money. But her anger seemed to have left her. She breathed 
heavily, and bathed her face; and she looked quite pale, very calm, 
rather wearied, with large, resolute eyes. Standing before her, he 
felt himself overcome by that timidity of love, which he held in 
such contempt. Never before had he loved so ardently; the 
strength of his desire commimicated an awkwardness to his charms 
of a handsome assistant. Whilst continuing to advise a reconcilia¬ 
tion in vague phrases, he was reasoning clearly in his own mind, ask¬ 
ing himself if he ought not to take her in his arms; but the fear of 
being again repulsed made him hesitate. She, without uttering a 
word, continued to look at him with her decided air, her forehead 
contracted by a faint wrinkle. 

“ Really! ” he stammeringly continued, “ you must be patient. 
Your husband is not a bad fellow. If you only go the right way to 
work with him, he will give you whatever you ask for. ” 

And beneath the emptiness of these words, they both felt the 
same thought take possession of them. They were alone, free, safe 
from all surprise, with the door bolted. This security, the close 
warmth of the room, exercised its influence on them. Yet he did 
not dare; the feminine side of his nature, his womanly feeling, refined 
him in that moment of passion to the point of making him the 


170 


POT-BOUILLE 


woman in their encounter. Then, as though recollecting one of her 
former lessons, Berthe dropped her handkerchief. 

“ Oh! thank you,” said she to the young man, who picked it up. 

Their fingers touched, they were drawn closer together by that 
momentary contact. Now she smiled tenderly, and gave an easy 
suppleness to her form, as she recollected that men detest sticks. It 
would never do to act the simpleton, one must permit a little play¬ 
fulness without seeming to do so, if one would hook one's fish. 

“ Night is coming on, ” resumed she, going and pushing the win¬ 
dow to. 

He followed her, and there, in the shadow of the curtains, she 
allowed him to take her hand. She laughed louder, bewildering him 
with her ringing tones, enveloping him with her pretty gestures; 
and, as he at length became bolder, she threw back her head, dis¬ 
playing her neck, her young and delicate neck all quivering with 
her gayety. Distracted by the sight, he kissed her under the chin. 

“ Oh! Monsieur Octave! ” said she in confusion, making a pretense 
of prettily putting him back into his place. 

His moment of triumph had come, but it was no sooner over than 
all the ferocious disdain of woman which was hidden beneath his 
air of wheedling adoration, returned. And when Berthe rose up, 
without strength in her wrists, and her face contracted by a pang, 
her utter contempt for man was thrown into the dark glance which 
she cast upon him. The room was wrapped in complete silence. 
One only heard Saturnin, on the other side of the door, polishing 
her husband’s boot with a regular movement of the brush. 

Octave’s thoughts reverted to Valerie and Madame Hedouin. At 
last he was something more than little Pichon’s lover! It seemed 
like a rehabilitation in his own eyes. Then, encountering Berthe’s 
uneasy glance, he experienced a slight sense of shame, and kissed 
her with extreme gentleness. She was resuming her air of resolute 
recklessness, and, with a gesture, seemed to say: “ What’s done 
can’t be undone. ” But she afterward experienced the necessity of 
giving expression to a melancholy thought. 

“ Ah! If you had only married me ! ” murmured she. 

He felt surprised, almost uneasy ; but this did not prevent him 
from replying, as he kissed her again: 

“ Oh ! yes, how nice it would have been! ” 

That evening the dinner with the Josserands was most delight¬ 
ful, Berthe had never shown herself so gentle. She did not say a 
word of the quarrel to her parents, she received her husband with 
an air of submission. The latter, delighted, took Octave aside to 
thank him; and he imparted so much warmth into the proceeding, 
pressing his hands and displaying such a lively gratitude, that the 
young man felt quite embarrassed. Moreover, they one and all 
overwhelmed him with marks of their affection. Saturnin, who 
behaved very well at table, looked at him with approving eyes. 
Hortense on her part deigned to listen to him, whilst Madame jos- 
serand, full of maternal encouragement, kept filling his glass, 


POT-BOUILLE 


171 


“ Dear me ! yes,” said Berthe at dessert, 11 1 intend to resume my 
painting. For a long time past I have been wanting to decorate a 
cup for Auguste. ” 

The latter was deeply moved at this loving conjugal thought. 
Ever since the soup, Octave had kept his foot on the young woman's 
under the table; it was like a taking of possession in the midst of 
this little middle-class gathering. Yet Berthe was not without a 
secret uneasiness before Rachel, whose eyes she always found look¬ 
ing her through and through. Was it, then, visible ? The girl was 
decidedly one to he sent away or else to be bought over. 

Monsieur Josserand, who was near his daughter, finished soothing 
her by passing her nineteen francs done up in paper under the 
tablecloth. He bent down and whispered in her ear: 

“ You know, they come from my little work. If you owe any¬ 
thing, you must pay it. ” 

Then, between her father, who nudged her knee, and her lover, 
who gently rubbed her boot, she felt quite happy. Life would now 
be delightful. And they'united in throwing aside all reserve, 
enjoying the pleasure of a family gathering unmarred by a single 
quarrel. In truth, it was hardly natural, something must have 
brought them luck. Auguste, alone, had his eyes half closed, 
suffering from a headache, which he had moreover expected after 
so many emotions. Toward nine o'clock he was even obliged to 
retire to bed. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

For some time past, Monsieur Gourd had been prowling about 
with an uneasy and mysterious air. He was met gliding noise¬ 
lessly along, his eyes open, his ears pricked up, continually ascend¬ 
ing the two staircases, where lodgers had even encountered him 
going his rounds in the dead of night. The morality of the house 
was certainly worrying him; he felt a kind of breath of shameful 
things which troubled the cold nakedness of the courtyard, the calm 
peacefulness of the vestibule, the beautiful domestic virtues of the 
different stories. 

One evening, Octave had found the doorkeeper standing motion¬ 
less and without a light at the end of his passage, close to the 
door which opened onto the servants' staircase. Greatly surprised, 
he questioned him. 

“I wish to ascertain something, Monsieur Mouret,” simply 
answered Monsieur Gourd, deciding to go off to bed. 

The young man was very much frightened. Did the doorkeeper 
suspect his relations with Berthe? He was perhaps watching them. 
Their attachment encountered continual obstacles in that house, 



172 


POT-BOUILLE 


where there was always some one prying about and the inmates of 
which professed the most strict principles. 

It happened to he a Tuesday night when Octave discovered 
Monsieur Gourd watching close to his room. This increased his 
uneasiness. For a week past, he had been imploring Berthe to 
come up and join him in his apartment, when all the house would 
be asleep. Had the doorkeeper guessed this ? Octave went back 
to his room dissatisfied, tormented with fear and desire. 

The night was a close one, and, overcome by the heat, Octave had 
dozed off in an easy-chair, when toward midnight he was roused 
by a gentle knocking. 

“ It’s I,” faintly whispered a woman’s voice. 

It was Berthe. He opened the door and clasped her in his arms 
in the obscurity. When he had lighted his candle, he saw that she 
was deeply troubled about something. The day before, not having 
sufficient money in his pocket, he had been unable to pay for the 
bonnet at the time: and as in her delight she had so far forgotten 
herself as to give her name, they had sent her the bill that evening. 
Then, trembling at the thought that they might call on the morrow 
when her husband was there, she had dared to come up, gathering 
courage from the great silence of the house, and confident that 
Rachel was asleep. 

“ To-morrow morning, you will be sure to pay it to-morrow morn¬ 
ing, won’t you ? ” kujlored she, trying to escape. 

But he again cl#PHl her in his arms, 

“Stay!” 

She remained^ The clock slowly struck the hours in the volup¬ 
tuous warmth of thtf room; and, at each sound of the bell, he beg¬ 
ged her so tenderly to stay, that her strength seemed to desert her 
and she yielded to his entreaties. Then, toward four o’clock, just 
as she had at length determined to go, they both dropped off to 
sleep locked in each other’s arms. When they again opened their 
eyes, the bright daylight was entering at the window, it was nine 
o’clock. Berthe uttered a cry. 

“ Good heavens! I’m lost! ” 

Then ensued a moment of confusion. With her eyes half closed 
with sleep and fatigue, feeling vaguely about with her hands scarcely 
able to distinguish anything, she gave vent to stifled exclamations 
of regret. He, seized with a similar despair, had thrown himself 
before the door, to prevent her from going out at such an hour. 
Was she mad ? people might meet her on the stairs, it was too risky; 
they must think the matter over, and devise a way for her to go 
down without being noticed. But she was obstinate, simply wishing 
to get away; and she again made for the door, which he defended. 
Then he thought of the servants’staircase. Nothing could be more 
convenient; she could go quickly through her own kitchen into her 
apartment. Only, as Marie Pichon was always in the passage of a 
morning, Octave considered it prudent to divert her attention, whilst 
the other young woman made her escape. 


POT-BOUILLE 


173 


He went out in iiis ordinary quiet way, and was surprised to find 
Saturnin making himself at home at Marie’s, and calmly watching 
her do her housework. The madman loved thus to seek refuge 
beside her as in former days, delighted with the manner in which she 
left him to himself, and certain of not being jostled. Moreover, he 
was not in her way, and she willingly tolerated him, though his con¬ 
versational powers were not great.* It was company all the same, 
and she would still sing her ballad in a low and expiring voice. 

“ Hallo! so you’re with your lover? ” said Octave, maneuvering so 
as to keep the door shut behind his back. 

Marie turned crimson. Oh! that poor Monsieur Saturnin ! Was 
it possible ? He who seemed to suffer even when any one touched 
his hand by accident! And the madman also got angry. He would 
not be any one’s lover — never, never! Whoever told his sister 
such a lie would have him to deal with. Octave, amazed at his sud¬ 
den irritation, felt it necessary to calm him. 

Meanwhile Berthe made her way to the servants’ staircase. She 
had two flights to descend. At the first step a shrill laugh, issuing 
from Madame Juzeur’s kitchen below, caused her to stop; and she 
tremblingly stood against the landing window, opened wide onto 
the narrow courtyard. 

Suddenly a voice exclaimed: 

“ Here’s master coming for his hot water! ” 

And windows were quickly closed, and floors slammed. The 
silence of death ensued, yet Berthe did not at first, dare to move. 
When she. at length went down, the thought came to her that 
Rachel was probably in the kitchen, waiting for her. This caused 
her fresh anguish. She now dreaded to enter, she would have pre¬ 
ferred to reach the street and fly away in the distance forever. She 
nevertheless pushed the door ajar, and felt relieved on beholding 
that the servant was not there. Then, seized with a childish joy on 
finding herself at home again and safe, she hurried to her room. But 
there was Rachel standing before the bed, which had not even been 
opened. She looked at the bed, and then at her mistress with her 
expressionless face. In her first moment of fright, the young woman 
lost her head to the point of trying to excuse herself, and talked of 
an illness of her sister’s. She stammered out the words, and then, 
frightened at the poorness of her lie, understanding that denial was 
utterly useless, she suddenly burst into tears. Dropping onto a 
chair, she continued crying. 

This lasted a good while. Not a word was exchanged, sobs alone 
disturbed the perfect quiet of the room. Rachel, exaggerating her 
habitual discretion, maintaining her cold manner of a girl who 
knows everything, but who says nothing, had turned her back, and 
was making a pretence of beating up the pillows, as though she was 
just finishing arranging the bed. At length, when madame, more 
and more upset by this silence, was giving too loud a vent to her 
despair, the maid, who was then dusting, said simply, in a respect¬ 
ful tone of voice: 


174 


POT-BOUILLE 


u Madame is wrong to take on so, master is not so very pleasant . 99 

Berthe left off crying. She would pay the girl, that was all. 
Without waiting further she gave her twenty francs. Then, not 
thinking that sufficient, and already feeling uneasy, having fancied 
she saw her curl her lips disdainfully, she rejoined her in the 
kitchen, and brought her back to make her a present of an almost 
new dress. 

At the same moment, Octave, on his part, was again in a state of 
alarm, on account of Monsieur Gourd. On leaving the Pichons’, he 
had found him standing immovable, the same as the night before, 
listening behind the door communicating with the servants’ stair¬ 
case. He followed him without even daring to speak to him. The 
doorkeeper gravely went back again down the grand staircase. On 
the floor below he took a key from his pocket and entered the room 
which was let to the distinguished individual, who came there to 
work one night every week. And through the door, which remained 
open for a moment, Octave obtained a clear view of that room 
which was always kept as closely shut as a tomb. It was in a terri¬ 
ble state of disorder that morning, the gentleman having no doubt 
worked there the night before. A huge bed, with the sheets 
stripped off, a wardrobe with a glass door, empty, save for the rem¬ 
nants of a lobster and two partly filled bottles, two dirty hand- 
basins lying about, one beside the bed and the other on a chair. 
Monsieur Gourd, with his calm air of a retired judge, at once occu¬ 
pied himself with emptying and rinsing out the basins. 

As he hurried to the Passage de la Madeleine to pay for the bon¬ 
net, the young man was tormented by a painful uncertainty. 
Finally, he determined to engage the doorkeepers in conversation 
on his return. Madame Gourd, reclining in her commodious arm¬ 
chair, was getting a breath of fresh air between the two pots of 
flowers, at the open window of their room. Standing up beside the 
door, old mother Perou was waiting in a humble and frightened 
manner. 

“ Have you a letter for me ? ” asked Octave, as a commencement. 

Monsieur Gourd just then came down from the room on the third 
floor. Seeing after that was the only work that he now condescended 
to do in the house; and he showed himself highly flattered by the 
confidence of the gentleman, who paid him well on condition that 
his basins should not pass through any other hands. 

“ No, Monsieur Mouret, nothing at all,” answered he. 

He had seen old mother Perou perfectly well, but he pretended 
not to be aware of her presence. The day before he had got into 
such a rage with her for upsetting a pail of water in the middle of 
the vestibule, that he had sent her about her business on the spot. 
And she had called for her money, but the mere sight of him made 
her tremble, and she almost sank into the ground with humility. 

However, as Octave remained some time doing the amiable with 
Madame Gourd, the doorkeeper roughly turned toward the poor old 
woman. 4 j 


POT-BOUILLE 


175 


“ So, you want to be paid. What’s owing to you ? ” 

But Madame Gourd interrupted him. 

“ Look, darling, there’s that girl again with her horrible little 
beast.” 

It was Lisa, who, a few days before, had found a spaniel in the 
street. And this occasioned continual disputes with the doorkeep¬ 
ers. The landlord would not allow any animals in the house. 
No, no animals, and no women! The little dog was even forbidden 
to go into the courtyard; the street was quite good enough for 
him. As it had been raining that morning, and the little beast’s 
paws were sopping wet, Monsieur Gourd rushed forward, exclaim¬ 
ing: 

“I will not have him walk up the stairs, you hear me! Carry 
him in your arms.” 

“ So that he shall make me all in a mess! ” said Lisa, insolently. 
“ What a great misfortune it’ll be if he wets the servants’ staircase 
a bit! Up you go, doggie. ” 

Monsieur Gourd tried to seize hold of her, and almost slipped, so 
he fell to abusing those sluts of servants. He was always at war 
with them, tormented with the rage of a former servant who wishes 
to be waited on in his turn. But Lisa turned upon him, and with the 
verbosity of a girl who had grown up in the gutters of Montmartre, 
she shouted out: 

“Eh! just you leave me alone, you miserable old flunkey! Go 
and empty the duke’s jerries! ” 

It was the only insult capable of silencing Monsieur Gourd, and 
the servants all took advantage of it. He returned to his room 
quivering with rage and mumbling to himself, saying that he was 
certainly very proud of having been in service at the duke’s, and 
that she would not have staid there two hours even, the baggage! 
Then he assailed mother Perou, who almost jumped out of her 
skin. 

“Well! what is it you’re owed? Eh! you say twelve francs 
sixty-five centimes. But it isn’t possible? Sixty-three hours at 
twenty centimes the hour. Ah! you charge a quarter of an hour. 
Never! I warned you, I only pay the hours that are completed.” 

And he did not even give her her money then, he left her per¬ 
fectly terrified, and joined in the conversation between his wife and 
Octave. The latter was cunningly alluding to all the worries that 
such a house must cause them, hoping thus to get them to talk 
about the lodgers. Such strange things must sometimes take place 
behind the doors! Then the doorkeeper chimed in, as grave as 
ever: 

“ What concerns us, concerns us, Monsieur Mouret, and what 
doesn’t concern us, doesn’t concern us. Over there, for instance, is 
something which quite puts me beside myself. Look at it, look 
at it!” 

And,, stretching out his arm, he pointed to the boot-stitcher, that 


176 


POT-BOUILLE 


tall, pale girl who had arrived at the house in the middle of the 
funeral. She walked with difficulty; she was evidently in the family 
way, and her condition was exaggerated by the sickly skinniness of 
her neck and legs. 

“ On my word of honor! sir, if this sort of thing was likely to 
continue, we would prefer to retire to our home at Mort-la-Ville; 
would we not, Madame Gourd? for, thank heaven! we have 
sufficient to live on, we are dependent on no one. A house like 
this to be made the talk of the place by such a creature! for so it is, 
sir! ” 

“ She seems very ill, ” said Octave, following her with his eyes, 
not daring to pity her too much. “ I always see her looking so sad, 
so pale, so forlorn. But, of course, she has a lover.” 

At this, Monsieur Gourd gave a violent start. 

“ Now we have it! Do you hear, Madame Gourd ? Monsieur 
Mouret is also of opinion that she has a lover. It’s clear, such things 
don’t come of themselves. Well, sir! for two months past I’ve been 
on the watch, and I’ve not yet seen the shadow of a man. How full 
of vice she must be! Ah! if I only found her chap, how I would 
chuck him out! But I can’t find him, and it’s that which worries 
me.” 

“ Perhaps no one comes,” Octave ventured to observe. 

The doorkeeper looked at him with surprise. 

u That would not be natural. Oh! I’m determined I’ll catch 
him. I’ve still six weeks before me, for I got the landlord to give 
her notice to quit in October. Just fancy her being confined 
here! ” 

And, with his arm still thrust out, he pointed to the young woman, 
who was painfully wending her way up the servants’ staircase. 
Madame Gourd was obliged to calm him: he took the respectability 
of the house too much to heart \ he would end by making himself 
ill. Then, mother Perou having dared to manifest her presence by 
a discreet cough, he returned to her, and coolly deducted the sou 
she had charged for the odd quarter of an hour. She was at length 
going off with her twelve francs sixty centimes, when he offered to 
take her back, but at three sous an hour only. She burst into tears, 
and accepted. 

“ I shall always be able to get some one, ” said he. “ You’re no 
longer strong enough; you don’t even do two sous’ worth. ” 

Octave felt his mind relieved as he returned to his room for a 
minute. On the third floor he caught up Madame Juzeur, who was 
also going to her apartments. She was obliged now to run down 
every morning after Louise, who loitered at the different shops. 

“ How proud you are becoming, ” said she, with her sharp smile. _ 
“ One can see very well that you are being spoilt elsewhere.” 

These words once more aroused all the young man’s anxiety. He 
followed her into her drawing-room, pretending to joke with her the 
while. Only one of the curtains was slightly drawn back, and the 
carpet and the hangings before the doors subdued still more this 


POT-BOUILLE 


177 


e noise of the street did not penetrate more 
I ban to (.be •> lint buzz, in this room as soft as down. She 

jpaade him teside her on the low, wide sofa. But, as he 

pid not i ke her id kiss it, she asked him archly: 

Do you, then, no longer love me? ” 

He h\ushed, and p r e ited that he adored her. Then she gave him 
he Vi and of htu ord, with a little stifled laugh; and he was 

d tc rai e 1 lips, so as to dispel her suspicions, if she 
ha< i ny. Bu t she st immediately withdrew it again. 

. o, no l ho..:.... l pretend to excite yourself, it gives you no 
pi* ■ re. Oh ! • el ;! ,.oes not, and, besides, it is only natural!” 

What ? v, 1 V. die mean ? He seized her round the waist, and 
pressed h< \ a cations, hut she would not answer; she abam 
doned herself to his embrace, and kept shaking her head. At length, 
to oblige her to speak, he commenced tickling her. 

“ Well, you see, ” she ended by murmuring, “ you love another. ” 

She named Valerie, and reminded him of the evening at the Jos- 
,serands when he devoured her with his eyes. Then, as he declared 
that Valerie was nothing to him, she retorted, with another laugh, 
that she knew that very well, and had been only teasing him. Only, 
there was another, and this time she named Madame Hedouin, 
laughing more than ever, and amused at his protestations, which 
were very energetic. Who, then? Was it Marie Pichon? Ah! he 
could not deny that one. Yet he did do so, but she shook her head. 
She assured him that her little finger never told stories. And to 
draw each of these women’s names from her, he was obliged to 
redouble his caresses. 

But she had not named Berthe. He was loosening his hold of her, 
when she resumed: 

“ Now, there’s the last one.” 

“ What last one? ” inquired he, anxiously. 

Screwing up her mouth, she again obstinately refused to say any¬ 
thing more, so long as he had not opened her lips with a kiss. 

He continued to hold her reclining in his arms. She languishingly 
alluded to the cruel being who had deserted her after having only 
been married a week. A miserable woman like her knew too much 
of the tempests of the heart! For a long time past she had guessed 
what she styled Octave’s “ little games; ” for not a kiss could be 
exchanged in the house without her hearing it. And, in the depths 
of the wide sofa, they had quite a cozy little chat, interrupted now 
and then with all sorts of delightful caresses. 

When Octave left her he felt more at ease. She had restored his 
good humor, and she amused him with her complicated principles of 
virtue. Down-stairs, directly he entered the warehouse, he reassured 
Berthe with a sign, as her eyes questioned him with reference to the 
bonnet. Then all the terrible adventure of the morning was forgot¬ 
ten. When Auguste returned, a little before lunch-time, he found 
them both looking the same as usual, Berthe very much bored at the 
pay-desk, and Octave gallantly measuring off some silk for a lady. 


178 


POT-BOUILLE 


But, after that day, the lovers’ private meetings became rarer still. 
As a practical fellow, he ended by thinking it stupid to be always 
paying, when she, on her side, only gave him her foot under the 
table. Paris had decidedly brought him ill-luck ; at first, repulses, 
and then this silly passion, which was fast emptying his purse. He 
could certainly not be accused of succeeding through women. He 
now found a certain honor in it by way of consolation, in his secret 
rage at the failure of his plan so clumsily carried out up till then. 

Yet Auguste was not much in their way. Ever since the bad turn 
affairs had taken at Lyons, he had suffered more than ever with his 
headaches. On the first of the month, Berthe had experienced a 
sudden joy on seeing him, in the evening, place three hundred francs 
under the bed-room timepiece for her dress; and, in spite of the 
reduction on the amount which she had demanded, as she had 
given up all hope of ever seeing a sou of it, she threw herself into 
his arms, all warm with gratitude. On this occasion the husband 
had a night of hugging such as the lover never experienced. 

September passed away in this manner, in the great calm of the 
house emptied of its occupants by the summer months. The people 
of the second floor had gone to the seaside in Spain, which caused 
Monsieur G-ourd, full of pity, to shrug his shoulders : what a fuss! 
as though the most distinguished people were not satisfied with 
Trouville! The Duveyriers, since the beginning of Gustave’s holi¬ 
days, had been at their country house at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. 
Even the Josserands went and spent a fortnight at a friend’s, near 
Pontoise, spreading a rumor beforehand' that they were going to 
some watering-place. 

This clearance, these deserted apartments, the staircase slumber¬ 
ing in a greater silence than ever, seemed to Octave to offer less 
danger; and he argued and so wearied Berthe that she at last 
received him in her room one evening whilst Auguste was away at 
Lyons. But this meeting also nearly took a bad turn. Madame 
Josserand, who had returned home two days before, was seized with 
such an attack of indigestion after dining out, that Hortense, filled 
with anxiety, went down-stairs for her sister. Fortunately, Rachel 
was just finishing scouring her saucepans, and she was able to let 
the young man out by the servants’ staircase. On the following 
days, Berthe availed herself of that alarm to again refuse him 
everything. 

Besides, they were so foolish as not to reward the servant. She 
attended to them in her cold way, and with her superior respect of 
a girl who hears and sees nothing; only, as madame was forever 
crying after money, and as Monsieur Octave already spent too much 
in presents, she curled her lip more and more in that wretched 
establishment, where the mistress’ lover did not even present her 
with ten sous when he stayed there. 

Meanwhile, Madame Juzeur wept with that lovesick darling who 
could only gaze on his mistress from a distance; and she gave him 
the very best advice. Octave’s passion reached such a pitch that 


POT-BOUILLE 


179 


he thought one day of imploring her to lend him her apartment; no 
doubt she would not have refused, but he feared rousing Berthe’s 
indignation by his indiscretion. He also had the idea of utilizing 
Saturnin; perhaps the madman would watch over them like a 
faithful dog in some out-of-the-way room; only, he displayed sucli 
a fantastical humor, at one time overwhelming his sister’s lover witli 
the most awkward caresses, at another, sulking with him and cast¬ 
ing suspicious glances gleaming with a sudden hatred. One could 
almost have thought him jealous, with the nervous and violent jeal¬ 
ousy of a woman. 

Just as September was drawing to a close, and the lodgers were 
on the point of returning home, a wild idea came to Octave in the 
midst of his torment. Rachel had asked her permission to sleep 
out on one of the Tuesdays that her master would be at Lyons, in 
order to enable her to attend the wedding of one of her sisters in 
the country ; and it was merely a question of passing the night in 
the servant’s room, where no one in the world would think of seek¬ 
ing them. Berthe, feeling deeply hurt at the suggestion, at first 
displayed the greatest repugnance; but he implored her with tears 
in his eyes; he talked of leaving Paris, where he suffered too much; 
he confused and wearied her with such a number of arguments, 
that, scarcely knowing what she did, she ended by consenting. All 
was settled. The Tuesday evening, after dinner, they took a cup 
of tea at the Josserands’, so as to dispel any suspicions. Trublot, 
Gueulin, and uncle Bachelard were there; and, very late in the 
evening, Duveyrier, who occasionally came to sleep at the Rue de 
Choiseul, on account of business which he pretended he had to 
attend to early in the morning, even put in an appearance. Octave 
made a show of joining freely in the conversation of these gentle¬ 
men; then, when midnight struck, he withdrew, and went and 
locked himself in Rachel’s room, where Berthe was to join him an 
hour later when all the house was asleep. 

Up-stairs, the arrangement of the room occupied him during the 
first half-hour. He had provided himself with clean bed linen, and 
he proceeded to remake the bed, awkwardly, and occupying a long 
while over it, through fear of being overheard. Then, like Trublot, 
he sat down on a box and tried to wait patiently. The servants 
came up to bed, one by one; and through the thin partitions the 
sounds of women undressing themselves could be heard. One 
o’clock struck, then the quarter, then the half hour past. He began 
to feel anxious; why was Berthe so long in coming? She must 
have left the Josserands’ about one o’clock at the latest; and it 
could not take her more than ten minutes to go to her rooms and 
come out again by the servants’ staircase. When two o’clock 
struck, he imagined all sorts of catastrophes. At length, he heaved 
a sigh of relief, on fancying he recognized her footstep. And he 
opened the door, in order to light her. But surprise rooted him to 
the spot. Opposite Addle’s door, Trublot, bent almost double, was 


180 


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looking through the key-hole, and jumped up, frightened by that 
sudden light. 

“ What! it’s you again! ” murmured Octave, with annoyance. 

Trublot began to laugh, without appearing the least surprised at 
finding him there at such a time of night. 

“ Just fancy,” explained he, very softly, 11 that fool AdMe hasn’t 
given me her key, and she has gone and joined Duveyrier in his 
room. Eh ¥ what’s the matter with you ¥ Ah! you didn’t know 
Duveyrier slept with her. It is so, nry dear fellow. He really is 
reconciled with his wife, who, however, only resigns herself to him 
now and then; so he falls back upon Ad&le. It’s convenient, when¬ 
ever he comes to Paris. ” 

He interrupted himself, and stooped down again, then added, 
between his clenched teeth. 

“ What a confounded brainless girl that Ad&le is! If she had 
only given me her key, I could have made myself comfortable here. ” 

Then he returned to the loft where he had been, previously wait¬ 
ing, taking Octave with him, who, moreover, desired to question 
him respecting the finish of the evening at the Josserands’. But, 
for some time, Trublot would not allow him to open his mouth. 

Octave was at length able to question him as to the wind-up cf 
the party. It seemed that Berthe had left her mother’s shortly after 
midnight, looking very composed. No doubt, she was now in 
Rachel’s room. But Trublot, delighted at the meeting, would not 
let him go. 

“ It’s idiotic, keeping me waiting so long,” continued he. 
“ Besides, I’m almost asleep as it is. My governor has put me into 
the liquidation department, and I’m up all night three times a week, 
my dear fellow. If Julie were only there, she would make room for 
me. But Duveyrier only brings Hippolyte up from the country. 
And, by the way, you know Hippolyte, that tall, ugly chap ! Well! 
I just saw him going to join Louise, that frightened brat of a found¬ 
ling, whose soul Madame Juzeur wished to save. Eh ¥ it’s a fine 
success for Madame! 1 Anything you like except that.’ ” 

That night, Trublot, who was greatly bored, was full of philo¬ 
sophical reflections. He added, almost in a whisper : 

u Well, you know! like master, like man. When landlords set 
the example, it’s scarcely surprising if the servants’ tastes are not 
exactly refined. Ah ! everything’s decidedly going to the dogs in 
France! ” 

“ Good-bye,” said Octave; “ I’m off.” 

But Trublot still detained him, enumerating the servants’ rooms 
where he might have slept, as the summer had emptied nearly the 
whole of them; only the worst was that they all double-locked 
their doors, even when they were merely going to the end of the 
passage, they had such a fear of being robbed by each other. 

At length Octave was able to get free. He was on the point of 
leaving Trublot in the profound obscurity of the loft, when the 
latter suddenly expressed his surprise. 


POT-BOUILLE 


181 


11 But you, what are you doing amongst the maids ? Ah ! rascal, 
you come here too ! ” 

And he laughed with delight, and promising to keep Octave’s 
secret, sent him off, wishing him a pleasant night of it. 

When Octave found himself back in Rachel’s room, he experienced 
a fresh deception. Berthe was not there. Anger got the better of 
him now: Berthe had humbugged him, she had promised him 
merely to get rid of hisdmportunities. Whilst he was chafing there, 
she was sleeping, happy at being alone, occupying the whole 
breadth of the conjugal couch. Then, instead of returning to his 
room and going to sleep himself, he obstinately waited, throwing 
himself all dressed as he was on the bed, and passing the night in 
forming projects of revenge. Three o’clock chimed out in the dis¬ 
tance. The snores of robust maid-servants arose on his left; while 
on his right there was a continual wail, a woman moaning with 
pain in the fever of a sleepless night. He ended by recognizing 
the boot-stitcher’s voice. The wretched woman was lying suffer¬ 
ing all alone in one of those poverty-stricken closets next to the 
roof. 

Just as day was breaking, Octave fell asleep. A profound silence 
reigned; even the boot-stitcher no longer moaned, but lay like one 
dead. The sun was peering through the narrow window, when the 
door opening abruptly awoke the young man. 

It was Berthe, who, urged by an irresistible desire, had come up 
to see if he was still there; she had at first scouted the idea, then 
she had furnished herself with pretexts, the need for going to the 
room and putting everything straight, in case he had left it anyhow 
in his rage. Moreover, she no longer expected to find him there. 
When she beheld him rise from the little iron bedstead, ghastly 
pale and menacing, she stood dumbfounded; and she listened with 
bowed head to his furious reproaches. He pressed her to answer, 
to give him at least some explanation. At length she mur¬ 
mured : 

“ At the last moment I could not do it. It was too indelicate. 
I love you, oh! I swear it. But not here, not here ! ” 

An d, seeing him approach her, she drew back, afraid that he 
might wish to take advantage of the opportunity. Eight o’clock 
was striking, the servants had all gone down, even Trublot had 
departed. Then, as he tried to take hold of her hands, saying that, 
when one loves a person, one accepts everything, she complained 
that the closeness of the room made her feel unwell, and she 
slightly opened the window. But he again tried to draw her 
toward him, overpowering her with his importunities. At this 
moment a turbid torrent of foul words ascended from the inner 

courtyard. . . „ 

“Pig! slut! have you done? Your dish-cloth’s again fallen on 

my head.” . . „ , , , . . 

Berthe, turning ghastly pale, and quivering from head to foot, 
released herself, murmuring: 


182 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Do yon hear those girls ? They make me shiver all over. The 
other day, I thought I should have been ill. No, leave me alone, 
and I promise to see you, on Tuesday next, in your room. ” 

The two lovers, standing up and not daring to move, were com¬ 
pelled to hear everything. 

“ Show yourself a moment,” continued Lisa, who was furious, 11 so 
that I may shy it back in your ugly face! ” 

Then Adele went and leant out of her kitchen window. 

“ There’s a fuss about a bit of rag! To begin with, I only used 
it for washing up with yesterday. And then it fell out by accident. ” 

They made peace together, and Lisa asked her what "they had had 
for dinner at her place the day befoie. Another stew! What 
misers ! She would have ordered chops for herself, if she had been 
in such a hole! She was forever inciting Adele to sneak the sugar, 
the meat, the candles, just to show that she could do as she liked; 
as for herself, never being hungry, she left Yictoire to rob the Cam- 
pardons, without even taking her share. 

“ Oh! ” said Adele, who was gradually becoming corrupted, “ the 
other night I hid some potatoes in my pocket. They quite burnt my 
leg. It was jolly, it was jolly! And, you know, I like vinegar, I 
do. I don’t care, I drink it out of the cruet now. ” 

Yictoire came and leant out in her turn, as she finished drinking 
some cassis mixed with brandy, which Lisa treated her to now and 
then of a morning, to pay her for concealing her day and night 
escapades. And, as Louise thrust out her tongue at them from the 
depths of Madame Juzeur’s kitchen, Yictoire was at once down 
upon her. 

“ Wait a bit! you street foundling; I’ll shove your tongue some¬ 
where for you! ” 

11 Come along, then, old swiller! ” retorted the little one. “ I saw 
you yesterday bringing it all up again in your plate.” 

At this, the rush of foul words again rebounded from wall to wall 
of the pestiferous hole. Adele herself, who was mastering the 
Paris gift of the gab, called Louise a filthy drab, whilst Lisa yelled 
out: 

“ I’ll make her shut up if she bothers us. Yes, yes, little 
strumpet, I’ll tell Clemence. She’ll settle you. But, hush! here’s 
the man. He’s a nice, dirty beast, he is! ” 

Hippolyte, just then appeared at the Duveyriers’ window, black¬ 
ing his master’s boots. The other servants, in spite of everything, 
were polite to him, for he belonged to the aristocracy, and he 
despised Lisa, who, in her turn, despised Adele, with more haughti¬ 
ness than rich masters show to masters in difficulties. They asked 
him for news of Mademoiselle Clemence and Mademoiselle Julie. 
Well! really, they were almost bored to death there, but they were 
pretty well. Then, jumping to another subject, he asked: 

“ Did you hear that girl last night, wriggling about with her 
stomach-ache? Wasn’t it annoying? Luckily she’s going to leave 
soon. I had half a mind to call out to her.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


183 


This allusion to the boot-stitcher’s condition caused them to pass 
all the ladies of the house in review. 

At first they talked of Madame Campardon, Who at least had 
nothing more to fear; then of Madame Juzeur, who took her pre¬ 
cautions; next of Madame Duveyrier, who was disgusted with her 
husband; and of Madame Valerie, who went and got her children 
away from home. And at each recital hursts of laughter arose in 
blasts from the squalid hole. 

Berthe had again turned pale. She waited, no longer even dar¬ 
ing to leave the room, her eyes cast down with shame, like one to 
whom violence was being offered in Octave’s presence. He, exas¬ 
perated with the servants, felt that they were becoming too filthy, 
and that he could not again take her in his arms; his desire was 
giving place to a weariness and a great sadness. But suddenly the 
young woman started. Lisa had just uttered her name. 

“ Talking of enjoying oneself, there’s one who seems to me to go 
in for a rare dose of it! Eh! Adele, isn’t it true that your Madem¬ 
oiselle Berthe was up to all manner of tricks at the time you used to 
wash her petticoats f ” 

“ And now,” said Victoire, “ she gets her husband’s assistant to 
give her a dusting! ” 

“ Hush! ” exclaimed Hippolyte softly. 

“What for? Her jade of a servant isn’t there to-day. A sly 
hussy who’d eat you, when one speaks of her mistress! You know 
she’s a Jewess, and she murdered some one once. Perhaps the 
handsome Octave dusts her also, in the corners. The governor 
must have engaged him just to increase the family, the big ninny! ” 

Then Berthe, suffering indescribable anguish, raised her eyes to 
her lover. And, cast down, imploring some aid, she stammered, in 
a painful voice: 

“ My God! my God! ” 

Octave took her hand and squeezed it tightly; he was choking with 
impotent rage. What was to be done? he could not show himself 
and force those women to leave off. The Joul words continued, 
words which the young woman had never heard before, all the over¬ 
flow of a sewer which every morning found an outlet there, close 
to her, and of which she had never had the least suspicion. Their 
love, so carefully hidden as they thought, was now being dragged 
amidst the vegetable parings and the kitchen slops. These women 
knew all, without any one having spoken. Lisa related how Sat- 
urnin held the candle. Victoire was highly amused by the hus¬ 
band’s headaches, and said that he would do well to get himself 
another eye and have it placed somewhere; even Adele had a fling 
at her mistress’ young lady, whose ailments, private habits, and 
toilet secrets she ruthlessly exposed. And a filthy chaff soiled all 
that remained that was good and tender in their love. 

“ Look out below! ” suddenly exclaimed Victoire; “ here’s some 
of yesterday’s carrots which stink enough to poison one! They’ll 
do for that crapulous old Gourd! ” 


184 


POT-BOUILLE 


The servants, out of spite, threw all the filth they could into the 
inner courtyard, so that the doorkeeper should have it to sweep up. 

u And here’s a hit of moldy kidney! ” said Ad61e in her turn. 

All the scrapings of the saucepans, all the muck from the wash¬ 
ing-up basins, found their way there, whilst Lisa continued to pull 
Berthe and Octave to pieces. The pair remained standing, hand- 
in-hand, face to face, unable to turn away their eyes and their 
hands became as cold as ice, and their looks acknowledged the 
impurity of their intimacy. This was what their love had come to, 
this fornication beneath a downpour of putrid meat and stale vege¬ 
tables ! 

“ And you know,” said Hippolyte, “ the young gentleman doesn’t 
care for the missis. He merely took her to help him along in the 
world. Oh ! he’s a miser at heart in spite of his airs, an unscrupu¬ 
lous fellow, who, with his pretensions of loving women, is not above 
slapping them! ” 

Berthe, her eyes on Octave, saw him turn pale, his face so upset, 
so changed, that he frightened her. 

“ On my word! the two make a nice pair,” resumed Lisa. “ I 
wouldn’t give much for her skin either. Badly brought up, with a 
heart as hard as a stone, caring for nothing except her own pleasure, 
and sleeping with fellows for the sake of their money, yes, for their 
money ! for I know the sort of woman. ” 

The tears streamed from Berthe’s eyes. Octave beheld her fea¬ 
tures all distorted. It was as if they had been flayed before each 
other, laid utterly bare, without any possibility of protesting. 
Then the young woman, suffocated by this open cesspool which 
discharged its exhalations full in her face, wished to fly. He did 
not detain her, for disgust with themselves made their presence a 
torture, and they longed for the relief of no longer seeing each 
other. 

“ You promise to come, next Tuesday, to my room ? ” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

And she hurried away, quite distracted. Left alone, he walked 
about the room, fumbling with his hands, putting the linen he had 
brought, into a bundle. He was no longer listening to the servants, 
when their last words attracted his attention. 

“ I tell you that Monsieur Hedouin died last night. If handsome 
Octave had foreseen that, he would have continued to cultivate 
Madame Hedouin, who’s worth a lot. ” 

This news, learnt there, amidst those surroundings, re-echoed in 
the innermost recesses of his being. Monsieur 'Hedouin was dead! 
And he was seized with an immense regret. He thought out loud, 
he could not restrain himself from saying : 

“ Ah ! yes, by Jove ! I’ve been a fool! ” 

When Octave at length went down, with his bundle, he met 
Rachel coming up to her room. Had she been a few minutes sooner, 
she would have caught them there. Down-stairs, she had again 
found her mistress in tears; but, this time, she had not got any- 


POT-BOUILLE 


185 


thing out of her, neither an avowal, nor a son. And furious, under¬ 
standing that they took advantage of her absence to see each other 
and thus to do her out of her little profits, she stared at the young 
man with a look black with menace. A singular schoolboy timidity 
prevented Octave from giving her ten francs; and, desirous of dis¬ 
playing perfect ease of mind, he went in to joke with Marie a while, 
when a grunt proceeding from a corner caused him to turn round: 
it was Saturnin, who rose up saying, in one of his jealous fits : 

“ Take care ! we’re mortal enemies ! ” 

That morning was the 8th of October, and the boot-stitcher had 
to clear out before noon. For a week past, Monsieur Gourd had 
been watching her with a dread that increased hourly. 

The boot-stitcher had implored the landlord to let her stay a few 
days longer, so as to get over her confinement, but had met with an 
indignant refusal. Pains were seizing her at every moment; during 
the last night, she had fancied she would be brought to bed all 
alone. Then, toward nine o’clock, she had begun her moving, 
helping the youngster whose little truck was in the courtyard, lean¬ 
ing against the furniture or sitting down on the stairs, whenever a 
formidable spasm doubled her up. 

Monsieur Gourd, however, had discovered nothing. Not a man! 
He had been regularly humbugged. So that, all the morning, he 
prowled about in a cold rage. Octave, who met him, shuddered at 
the thought that he also must know of their intimacy. 

At a quarter to twelve, the work-girl appeared, with her wax-like 
face, her perpetual sadness, her mourful despondency. She could 
scarcely move along. Monsieur Gourd trembled until she was safe 
out in the street. Just as she handed him her key, Duveyrier issued 
from the vestibule, so heated by his night’s work that the red 
blotches on his forehead seemed almost bleeding. He put on a 
haughty air, an implacable moral severity, when the creature passed 
before him. Ashamed and resigned, she bowed her head ; and, fol¬ 
lowing the little truck, she went off with the same despairing step as 
she had come, the day when she had been engulfed by the under¬ 
taker’s black hangings. 

Then, only, did Monsieur Gourd triumph. As though this woman 
had carried off with her all the uneasiness of the house, the dis¬ 
reputable things with which the very walls shuddered, he called out 
to the landlord: 

“ A good riddance, sir! One will be able to breathe now, for, on 
my word of honor! it was becoming disgusting. It has lifted a 
hundred weight from off my chest. No, sir; you see, in a house 
which is to be respected, there should be no single women, and 
especially none of those women who work! ” 


186 


POT-BOUILLE 


CHAPTER XIV. 

On the following Tuesday Berthe did not keep her promise to 
Octave. This time she had warned him not to expect her, in a rapid 
explanation they had'had that evening, after the warehouse closed; 
and she sobbed; she had been to confession the day before, feeling 
a want of religious comfort, and was still quite upset by Abbe 
Mauduit’s grievous exhortations. Since her marriage she had thrown 
aside all religion, but, after the foul words with which the servants 
had sullied her, she had suddenly felt so sad, so abandoned, so 
unclean, that she had returned for an hour to the belief of her 
childhood, inflamed with a hope of purification ahd salvation. On 
her return, the priest having wept with her, her sin quite horrified 
her. Octave, impotent and furious, shrugged his shoulders. 

Then, three days later, she again promised for the following Tues¬ 
day. At a meeting with her lover, in the Passage des Panoramas, 
she had seen some Chantilly lace shawls, and she was incessantly 
alluding to them, whilst her eyes were filled with desire. So that, 
on the Monday morning, the young man laughingly said to her, in 
order to soften the brutal nature of the bargain, that, if she at last 
kept her word, she would find a little surprise for herself up in his 
room. She understood him, and again burst into fears. No Pno! 
she would not go now; he had spoilt all the pleasure she had antici¬ 
pated from their being together. She had spoken of the shawl 
thoughtlessly; she no longer wanted it; she would throw it on the 
fire if he gave it her. However, on the morrow, they made all their 
arrangements: she was to knock three times at his door very softly 
half an hour after midnight. 

That day, when Auguste started for Lyons, he struck Berthe as 
being rather peculiar. She had caught him w r hispering with Rachel 
behind the kitchen door; besides which, he was quite yellow, and 
shivering, with one eye closed up; but, as he complained a good 
deal of his headache, she thought he was ill, and told him 
that the journey would do him good. Directly he had left, she 
returned to the kitchen, still feeling slightly uneasy, and tried to 
sound the servant. The girl continued to be discreet and respectful, 
and maintained the stiff attitude of her early days. The young 
woman, however, felt that she was vaguely dissatisfied, and she 
thought that she had been very foolish to give her twenty francs and 
a dress, and then to stop all further gratuities, although compelled 
to do so, for she was forever in want of a five franc piece herself. 

“ My poor girl, ” said she to her, “ I have not been very gener¬ 
ous, have I ? But it is not my fault. I have not forgotten you, and 
I shall recompense you by-and-by.” 

“ Madame owes me nothing, ” answered Rachel, in her cold way. 

Then Berthe went and fetched two of her old chemises, wishing 


POT-BOUILLE 


187 


at least to show her good nature. But the servant, on receiving 
them, observed that they would do for rags for the kitchen. 

u Thank you, madame; calico irritates my skin; I only wear 
linen. ” 

Berthe, however, found her so polite, that she became more easy. 
She made herself very familiar with her, told her she was going to 
sleep out, and even asked her to leave a lamp alight, in case she 
required it. The door leading on to the grand staircase could be 
bolted, and she would go out by way of the kitchen, the key of 
which she would take with her. The servant received these instruc¬ 
tions as coolly as if it had been a question of cooking a piece of beef 
for the morrow’s dinner. 

By a refinement of discretion, as his mistress was to dine with her 
parents that evening, Octave accepted an invitation to the Campar- 
dons’. He counted on staying there till ten o’clock, and then going 
and shutting himself up in his room, and waiting for half-past 
twelve with as much patience as possible. 

The dinner at the Campardons’ was quite patriarchal. The archi¬ 
tect, seated between his wife and her cousin, lingered over the 
dishes—regular family dishes — abundant and wholesome, as he 
described them. 

“ Eat away,” cried the architect to Octave; “ you may be eaten 
yourself some day. ” 

Madame Campardon, bending toward the young man’s ear, was 
once more congratulating herself on the happiness which the cousin 
had brought the household; an economy of quite cent, per cent.; 
the servants made to be respectful; Angele looked after properly, 
and receiving good examples. 

“ In short,” murmured she, u Achille continues to be as happy as 
a fish in water, and, as for me, I have absolutely nothing whatever 
left to do, absolutely nothing. Listen! she even washes me now. 
I can live without moving either arms or legs; she has taken all 
the cares of the household on her own shoulders. ” 

Then the architect related how “ he had settled those jokers of 
the Ministry of Public Instruction.” 

“ Just fancy, my dear fellow, they made no end of a fuss about the 
work I’ve done at Evreux, You see, I wished, above all, to please 
the bishop. Only, the range for the new kitchens and the heating 
apparatus have come to more than twenty thousand francs. No 
credit was voted for them, and it is not easy to get twenty thousand 
francs out of the small sum allowed for repairs.” 

They laughed all round the table, without the least respect for 
the Ministry, of which they spoke with disdain, their mouths full of 
rice. Rose declared that it was best to be on the side of religion. 
Ever since the works at Saint-Roch, Achille was overwhelmed with 
orders; the greatest families would employ no one else; it was 
impossible for him to attend to them all; he would have to work all 
night as well as all day. God wished them well, most decidedly, 
and the family returned thanks to Him, both night and morning. 


188 


POT-BOUILLE 


They were having dessert, when Campardon exclaimed: 

“ By the way, my dear fellow, you know that Duveyrier has found 

_ V 

He was about to name Clarisse. But he recollected that Angele 
was present, so, casting a side glance toward his daughter, he 
added: 

“ He has found his relative, you know.” 

And, biting his lip and winking his eve, he at length made him¬ 
self understood by Octave, who at first did not in the least catch 
what he meant. 

“Yes, Trublot, whom I met, told me so. The day before yester¬ 
day, when it was pouring in torrents, Duveyrier stood up inside a 
doorway, and who do you think he saw there? why, his relative shak¬ 
ing out her umbrella. Trublot had been seeking her for a week 
past, so as to restore her to him. ” 

Angele had modestly lowered her eyes onto her plate, and began 
swallowing enormous mouthfuls. The family rigorously excluded 
all indecent words from their conversation. 

“ Is she good looking ? ” asked Rose of Octave. 

“ That’s a matter of taste,” replied the latter. “ Some people 
may think so. ” 

“ She had the audacity to come to the shop one day, ” said Gas- 
parine, who, in spite of her own skinniness, detested thin people. 
“ She was pointed out to me. A regular bean-stalk. ” 

“ All the same, ” concluded the architect, “ Duveyrier’s hooked 
again. His poor wife *-” 

He intended saying that Clotilde was probably relieved and 
delighted. Only, he remembered a second time that Angele was 
present, and put on a doleful air to declare: 

“ Relations do not always agree together. Yes ! every family has 
its worries. ” 

Lisa, on the other side of the table, with a napkin on her arm, 
looked at Angele, and the latter, seized with a mad fit of laughter, 
hastened to take a long drink, and hide her face in her glass. 

A little before ten o’clock, Octave pretended to be very fatigued, 
and retired to his room. In spite of Rose’s affectionate ways, he 
was ill at ease in that family circle, where he felt Gasparine’s hostil¬ 
ity to him to be ever on the increase. Yet, he had never done any¬ 
thing to her. She detested him for being a handsome man, she 
suspected him of having overcome all the women of the house, and 
that exasperated her, though she did not desire him the least in the 
world, but merely yielded, at the thought of his happiness, to the 
instinctive anger of a woman whose beauty had faded too soon. 

Directly he had left, the family talked of retiring for the night. 
Before getting into bed, Rose spent an hour in her dressing-room 
every evening. She proceeded to wash and scent herself all over, 
then did her hair, examined her eyes, her mouth, her ears, and even 
placed a tiny patch under her chin. At night-time, she replaced 
her luxury of dressing-gowns by aluxury ofnight-caps and chemises. 



POT-BOUILLE 


189 


On that occasion she selected a chemise and a cap trimmed with 
Valenciennes lace. Gasparine had assisted her, handing her the 
basins, wiping up the water she spilt, drying her with a soft towel, 
little things which she did far better than Lisa. 

“ Ah! I do feel comfortable! ” said Rose at length, stretched out 
in her bed, whilst the cousin tucked in the sheets and raised the 
bolster. 

And she laughed with delight, all alone in the middle of the big 
bed. With her soft, delicate, and spotless body, reclining amidst 
the lace, she looked like some beautiful creature awaiting the idol 
of her heart. When she felt herself pretty, she slept better, she 
used to say. Besides, it was the only pleasure left her. 

“ Is it all right ? ’’ asked Campardon, entering the room. “Well! 
good-night, little duck.” 

He pretended he had some work to do. He would have to sit up 
a little longer. But she grew angry, she wished him to take some 
rest; it was foolish to work himself to death like that! 

“ You hear me, now go to bed. Gasparine, promise me to make 
him go to bed. ” 

The cousin, who had just placed a glass of sugar and water, and 
one of Dickens’ novels on the night table, looked at her. Without 
answering, she bent over and said : 

“ You are so nice, this evening! ” 

And she kissed her on both cheeks, with her dry lips and bitter 
mouth, in the resigned manner of a poor and ugly relation. Camp¬ 
ardon, his face very red, and suffering from a difficult digestion, also 
looked at his wife. His mustache quivered slightly as he kissed her 
in his turn. 

“ Good night, my little duck.” 

“ Good night, my darling. Now, mind you go to bed at once.” 

“Never fear!” said Gasparine. “ If he’s not in bed asleep at 
eleven o’clock, I’ll get up and put his lamp out. ” 

Toward eleven o’clock, Campardon, who was yawning over a Swiss 
cottage, the fancy of a tailor of the Rue Rameau, rose from his seat 
and undressed himself slowly, thinking of Rose, so pretty and so 
clean ; then, after opening his bed, on account of the servants, he 
went and joined Gasparine in hers. It was so narrow that they 
slept very uncomfortably in it, and their elbows were constantly 
digging into each other’s ribs. He especially always had one leg 
quite stiff in the morning, through his efforts to balance himself on 
the edge of the mattress. 

At the same time, as Victoire had gone to -her room, having 
finished her washing up, Lisa came, in accordance with her usual 
custom, to see if mademoiselle required anything more. Angffie 
was waiting for her comfortably in her bed; and thus, every evening, 
unknown to the parents, they had endless games at cards, on a 
corner of the counterpane, which they spread out for the purpose. 
They played at beggar-my-neighbor, while abusing cousin Gasparine, 
a dirty creature, whom the maid coarsely pulled to pieces before the 


190 


POT-BOUILLE 


child. They both avenged themselves for their hypocritical sub¬ 
mission during the day, and Lisa took a low delight in this corruption 
of Angele, and in satisfying the curiosity of this sickly girl, agitated 
by the crisis of her thirteen years. That night they were furious 
with Gasparine, who, for two days past, had taken to locking up the 
sugar, with which the maid filled her pockets, to empty them 
afterward on the child’s bed. What a bear she was ! now they 
were not even able to get a lump of sugar to suck when going to 
sleep! 

“ Yet, your papa gives her plenty of sugar!” said Lisa, with a 
sensual laugh. 

“ Oh! yes! ” murmured Ang&le, laughing also. 

“ What does your papa do to her ? Come, show me. ” 

Then the child caught the maid round the neck, pressed her in 
her bare arms, and kissed her violently on the mouth, saying as she 
did so: 

“ See! like this. See! like this. ” 

Midnight struck. Campardon and Gasparine were moaning in 
their over-narrow bed, whilst Rose, stretching herself out in the 
middle of hers, find extending her limbs, was reading Dickens, with 
tears of emotion. A profound silence followed; the chaste night 
cast its shadow over the respectability of the family. 

On going up to his room, Octave found that the Pichons had 
company. Jules called him in, and persisted on his taking a glass 
of something. Monsieur and Madame Yuillaume were there, having 
made it up with the young people, on the occasion of Marie’s 
churching, she having been confined in September. They had even 
agreed to come to dinner one Tuesday, to celebrate the young 
woman’s recovery, which only fully dated from the day before. 
Anxious to pacify her mother, whom the sight of the child, another 
girl, annoyed, she had sent it out to nurse, not far from Paris. 
Lilitte was sleeping on the table, overcome by a glass of pure wine, 
which her parents had forced her to drink to her little sister’s 
health. 

“ Well! two may still be put up with!” said Madame Vuillaume, 
after clinking glasses with Octave. “ Only, don’t do it again, 
son-in-law. ” 

The others all laughed. But the old woman remained perfectly 
grave. 

“ There is nothing laughable in that, ” she continued. “ We accept 
this child, but I swear to you that if another were to come-” 

“ Oh ! if another came,” finished Monsieur Yuillaume, “you 
would have neither heart nor brains. Dash it all! one must be 
serious in life, one should restrain oneself, when one has not got 
hundreds and thousands to spend in pleasures. ” 

And, turning toward Octave, he added: 

“You see, sir, I am decorated. Well! I may tell you that, so as 
not to dirty too many ribbons, I don’t wear my decoration at home. 
Therefore, if I deprive my wife and myself of the pleasure of being 


POT-BOUILLE 


191 


decorated in our own home, our children can certainly deprive 
themselves of the pleasure of having daughters. No, sir, there are 
no little economies.” 

But the Pichons assured him of their obedience. They were not 
likely to be caught at that game again! 

“ To suffer what I’ve suffered!” said Marie, still quite pale. 

“ I would sooner cut my leg off,” declared Jules. 

The Vuillaumes nodded their heads with a satisfied air. They 
had their word, so they forgave them that time. And, as ten was 
striking by the clock, they tenderly embraced all round; and Jules 
put on his hat to see them to the omnibus. This resumption of the 
old ways affected them so much that they embraced a second time 
on the landing. When they had taken their departure, Marie, who 
stood watching them go down, leaning over the balustrade, beside 
Octave, took the latter back to the dining-room, saying : 

“ Ah! mamma is not unkind, and she is quite right: children are 
no joke! ” 

She had shut the door, and was clearing the table of the glasses 
which stiff lay about. The narrow room, with its smoky lamp, was 
quite warm from the little family jollification. Lilitte continued to 
slumber on a corner of the American cloth. 

“ Pm off to bed,” murmured Octave. 

But he sat down, feeling very comfortable there. 

“What! going to bed already! ” resumed the young woman. 
“ You don’t often keep such good hours. Have you something to 
see to, then, early to-morrow % ” 

“ No,” answered he. “ I feel sleepy, that is all. Oh! I can very 
well stay another ten minutes or so. ” 

He just then thought of Berthe. She would not be coming up 
till half-past twelve: he had plenty of time. And this thought, 
the hope of having her with him for a whole night, which had been 
consuming him for weeks past, no longer had the same effect on 
him. The fever of the day, the torment of his desire counting the 
minutes, evoking the continual image of approaching bliss, gave 
way beneath the fatigue of waiting. 

“ Will you have another small glass of brandy ? ” asked Marie. 

“ Well! yes, I don’t mind.” 

He thought that it would set him up a bit. When she had taken 
the glass from him, he caught hold of her hands, and held them in 
his, whilst she smiled, without the least alarm. He thought her 
charming, with her paleness of a woman who had recently gone 
through a deal of suffering. All the hidden tenderness with which 
he felt himself again invaded, ascended with sudden violence to his 
throat, and to his lips. He had one evening restored her to her 
husband, after placing a, father’s kiss upon her brow, and now he 
felt a necessity to take her back again, an acute and immediate 
longing, in which all desire for Berthe vanished, like something too 
distant to dwell upon. 


192 


POT-BOTJILLE 


“Yon are not afraid, then, to-day? ” asked he, squeezing her 
hands tighter. 

“ No, since it has now become impossible. Oh! we shall always 
be good friends! ” 

And she gave him to understand that she knew everything. 
Saturnin must have spoken. Moreover, she always noticed when 
Octave received a certain person in his room. As he turned pale 
with anxiety, she hastened to ease his mind : she would never say a 
word to any one, she was not angry, on the contrary she wished him 
much happiness. 

“ Come,” repeated she, “ I’m married, so I can’t bear you any 
ill will.” 

He took her on his knees, and exclaimed: 

“ But it’s you who I love! ” 

And he spoke truly. At that moment he loved her and only her, 
and with an absolute and infinite passion. All his new intrigue, 
the two months spent in pursuing another, were as naught. He 
again beheld himself in that narrow room, coming and kissing 
Marie on the neck, behind Jule’sback, ever finding her willing, with 
her passive gentleness. This was true happiness, how was it that 
he had disdained it? Regret almost broke his heart. He still 
wished for her, and he felt that, if he had her no more, he would be 
eternally miserable. 

“Let me be,” murmured she, trying to release herself. “You 
are not reasonable, you will end by grieving me. Now that you 
love another, what is the use of continuing to torment me? ” 

She defended herself thus, in her gentle and irresolute way, merely 
feeling a certain repugnance for what did not amuse her much. But 
he was getting crazy, he squeezed her tighter, he kissed her throat 
through the coarse material of her woolen dress. 

“ It’s you who I love, you cannot understand—Listen! on what I 
hold most sacred, I swear to you I do not lie. Tear my heart open 
and see. Oh! I implore you, be kind! ” 

Marie, paralyzed by the will of this man, made a movement as 
though to take slumbering Lilitte into the next apartment; but he 
prevented her, fearing that she would awaken the child. The 
peacefulness of the house, at that hour of the night, filled the little 
room with a sort of buzzing silence. Suddenly the lamp went 
down, and they were about to find themselves in the dark, when 
Marie, rising, was just in time to wind it up again. 

Tears filled her eyes, and she remained sad, though still with¬ 
out anger. When he left her, he felt dissatisfied, he would 
have liked to have gone to sleep. But the other one would 
be there shortly, he must wait for her, and this thought weighed 
terribly on him; after having spent feverish nights in concocting 
extravagant plans for getting her to visit him in his room, he longed 
for something to happen which would prevent her from coming up. 
Perhaps she would once again fail to keep her word. It was a hope 
with which he scarcely dared delude himself. 


POT-BOTTILLE 


193 


Midnight struck. Octave, quite tired out, stood listening, fearing 
to hear the rustling of her skirts along the narrow passage. At half 
past twelve, he was seized with real anxiety; at one o’clock, he 
thought himself saved, but a secret irritation mingled with his 
relief, the annoyance of a man made a fool of by a woman. But, 
just as he made up his mind to undress himself, yawning for want 
of sleep, there came three gentle taps at the door. It was Berthe. 
He felt both annoyed and flattered, and advanced to meet her with 
open arms, when she motioned him aside, and stood trembling and 
listening against the door, which she had hastily shut after her. 

u What is the matter ? ” asked he, in a low voice. 

“I don’t know, I was frightened,” stammered she. “It is so 
dark on the stairs, I thought that somebody was following me. 
Dear me ! how stupid all this is! Some harm is sure to happen to 
us.” 

This chilled them both. They did not even kiss each other. 

“ I am going back,” said she, without leaving her chair. 

“ What, you are going ? ” 

“ Do you think I sell myself? You are always hurting my feel¬ 
ings; you have again spoilt all my pleasure to-night. Why did you 
buy it, when I forbade you to do so ? ” 

She got up, and at length consented to look at it. But, when 
she opened the box, she experienced such a disappointment, that 
she could not restrain this indignant exclamation: 

“ What! it is not Chantilly at all, it is llama! ” 

Octave, who was reducing his presents, had yielded to a miserly 
idea. He tried to explain to her that there was some superb llama, 
quite equal to Chantilly; and he praised up the article, just as 
though he had been behind his counter, making her feel the lace, 
and swearing that it would last her forever. But she shook her 
head, and silenced him by observing contemptuously. 

“ The long and short of it is, this costs one hundred francs, 
whereas the other would have cost three hundred.” 

And, seeing him turn pale, she added, so as to soften her words: 

« You are very kind all the same, and I am much obliged to you. 
It is not the value which makes the present, when one’s intention is 
good.” 

She sat down again, and a pause ensued. She was still quite 
upset by her silly fright on the stairs! And she returned to her 
misgivings with respect to Rachel, relating how she had found 
Auguste whispering with the maid behind the door. Yet, it would 
have been so easy to have bought the girl over by giving her a .five 
franc piece from time to time. But to do this, it was necessary to 
have some five franc pieces; she never had one, she had nothing. 
Her voice became harsh, the llama shawl, which she no longer 
alluded to, was working her up to such a pitch of rancor and 
despair, that she ended by picking the quarrel with her lover which 
had already existed so long between her and her husband. 

Pot-Bouille 13 


194 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Come, now, is it a life worth living ? never a sou, always at any 
one’s mercy for the least thing! Oh! I’ve had enough of it, I’ve 
had enough of it! ” 

Octave, who was pacing the room, stopped short to ask her: 

“ But why do you tell me all this ? ” 

“ Eh ? sir, why ? But there are things which delicacy alone 
ought to tell you, without my being made to blush by having to dis¬ 
cuss such matters with you. Ought you not, long ere now, and 
without having to be told, to have made me easy by bringing this 
girl to our feet? ” 

She paused, then she added, in a tone of disdainful irony: 

“ It would not have ruined you. ” 

There was another silence. The young man, who was again 
pacing the room, at length replied: 

“ I am not rich, and I regret it for your sake. ” 

Then matters went from bad to worse, the quarrel assumed quite 
conjugal violence. 

“ Say that I love you for your money! ” cried she, with all the 
bluntness of her mother, whose very words seemed to come to her 
lips. “ I am a money-loving woman, am I not ? Well! yes, I am 
a money-loving woman, because I am a sensible woman. It is no 
use pretending the contrary; money will ever be money in spite of 
everything. As for me, whenever I have had twenty sous, I have 
always pretended that I had forty, for it is better to create envy 
than pity. ” 

He interrupted her to say, in a weary voice, lik e a man who only 
desires peace. 

“ Listen, if it annoys you so much that it’s a llama shawl, I will 
give you one in Chantilly.” 

“Your shawl!” continued she, in a regular fury, “why, I’ve 
already forgotten all about your shawl! The other things are what 
exasperate me, understand! Oh! moreover, you’re just like my 
husband. You wouldn’t care a bit if I hadn’t a pair of boots to go 
out in. Yet, when one loves a woman, good nature alone should 
prompt one to feed and dress her. But no man will ever understand 
that. Why, between the two of you, you would soon let me go out 
with nothing on but my chemise, if I was agreeable! ” 

Octave, tired out by this domestic squabble, decided not to 
answer, having noticed that Auguste sometimes got rid of her in 
that way. He let pass the flow of words, and thought of the ill- 
luck of his amours. Yet, he had ardently desired this one, even to 
the point of upsetting all his calculations; and, now that she was 
in his room, it was to quarrel with him, to make him pass a sleep¬ 
less night, as though they had already left six months of married 
life behind them. 

And full of conciliation, without desire, but polite, he tried to kiss 
her. She pushed him away, and burst into tears. 

“ Go on, reproach me also with my outings,” stammered she in 
the midst of her sobs. “ Accuse me of being too great an expense 


POT-BOUILLE 


195 


to you. Oh ! I see clearly now; it’s all on account of that wretched 
present. If you could shut me up in a box, you would do so. I 
have lady friends; I go to call on them; that is no crime. And as 
for mamma-- ” 

“For heaven’s sake leave your mamma alone,” interrupted 
Octave; “ and allow me to tell you that she has given you a precious 
bad temper. ” 

She mechanically commenced to undress herself, and becoming 
more and more excited, she raised her voice. 

“ Mamma has always done her duty. It’s not for you to speak of 
her here. I forbid you to mention her name. It only remained for 
you to attack my family! ” 

Finding a difficulty in undoing the string of her petticoat, she 
broke it. Then, seating herself on the edge of the bed, her bosom 
heaving with anger in the midst of the surrounding lace of her 
chemise, she continued: 

“Ah! how I regret my weakness, sir! how one would reflect, if 
one could only foresee everything! ” 

Octave, who had made a show of lying with his face to the wall, 
suddenly bounced round, exclaiming: 

“ What! you regret having loved me? ” 

“ Most certainly, a man incapable of understanding a woman’s 
heart!” 

And they looked at each other close together, with hardened 
faces, quite devoid of love. 

“ Ah ! good heavens! if it were only to come over again! ” added 
she. 

“ You would take another, wouldn’t you? ” said he, brutally and 
in a very low voice. 

She was about to answer in the same exasperated tone, when 
there came a sudden hammering at the door. Not understanding 
at first what it meant, they remained immovable, and their blood 
seemed to freeze in their veins. A hollow voice said : 

“ Open the door, I can hear you at your dirty tricks. Open, or I 
will burst it in ! ” 

It was the husband’s voice. Still the lovers did not move, their 
heads were filled with such a buzzing that they could think of 
nothing; and they felt very cold, just like corpses. Berthe at length 
jumped from the bed, with an instinctive desire to fly from her lover, 
whilst, on the other side of the door, Auguste repeated: 

“ Open! open, I say! ” 

Then ensued a terrible confusion, an inexpressible anguish. Berthe 
turned about the room in a state of distraction, seeking for some 
outlet, with a fear of death which made her turn ghastly pale. 
Octave, whose heart jumped to his mouth at each blow, had gone 
and mechanically leant against the door, as though to strengthen 
it. The noise was becoming unbearable, the fool would wake 
the whole house up, he would have to open the door. But, 
1 ~tood his determination, she hung onto his arms, 


POT-BOUILLE 



iploring him with terrified eyes; no, no, mercy! the other would 
sh upon them with a pistol or a knife. He, as pale as herself, and 
,rtly overcome by her fright, slipped on his trousers, and beseeched 
r to dress herself. Still bewildered, she only managed to put on 
r stockings. All this time the husband continued his uproar. 
“You won’t; you don’t answer. Very well, you’ll see. ” 

Every since he had last paid his rent, Octave had been asking his 
idlord for some slight repairs — two new screws in the staple of 
3 lock, which scarcely held to the wood. Suddenly the door 
acked, the staple yielded, and Auguste, unable to stop himself, 
lied into the middle of the room. 

“ Damnation!” swore he. 

He simply held a key in his hand, which was bleeding through 
becoming grazed in his fall. When he got up, livid, and filled with 
rage and shame at the thought of his ridiculous entry, he hit out 
into space, and wished to spring upon Octave. But the latter, in 
spite of the awkwardness of being barefooted and having his trousers 
all awry, seized him by the wrists, and, being the stronger of the 
two, mastered him, at the same time exclaiming: 

“ Sir, you are violating my domicile. It is disgraceful; you should 
act like a gentleman. ” 

And he almost beat him. During their short struggle, Berthe 
had made off in her chemise by the door which had remained-wide 
open ; she fancied she beheld a kitchen knife in her husband’s 
bleeding fist, and she seemed to feel the cold steel between her 
shoulders. As she rushed along the dark passage, she thought she 
heard the sound of blows, without being able to make out who had 
dealt them, or who received them. Voices, which she no longer 
recognized, were saying: 

“ I am at your service whenever you please.” 

“ Very well, you will hear from me.” 

With a bound she gained the servants’ staircase. But when she 
had rushed down the two flights, as though there had been the 
flames of a conflagration behind her, she found the kitchen door 
locked, and remembered she had left the key up-stairs in the pocket 
of her dressing-gown. Moreover, there was no lamp; not the least 
glimmer of a light beneath the door; it was evidently the servant 
who had sold them. Without stopping to take breath, she tore 
up-stairs again, passing once more before the passage leading to 
Octave’s room, where the two men’s voices still continued in violent 
altercation. 

They were going on abusing each other; she would have time, 
perhaps. And she rapidly descended the grand staircase, with the 
hope that her husband had left their outer door open. She would 
bolt herself in her room, and open to nobody. But there, for the 
second time, she encountered a locked door. Then, shut out from 
her home, with scarcely a covering to her body, she lost her head, 
and scampered from floor to floor, like some hunted animal which 
knows not where to take earth. She would never have the courage 


POT-BOUILLE 


197 


to knock at her parents’ door. At one moment she thought of taking 
refuge with the doorkeepers, hut shame drove her up-stairs again. 
She listened, raised her head, bent over the hand-rail, her ears 
deafened by the beating of her heart in the profound silence, her 
eyes blinded by lights which seemed to shoot out from the dense 
obscurity. And it was always the knife, the knife in Auguste’s 
bleeding fist, the icy cold point of which was about to pierce her. 
Suddenly there was a noise ; she fancied he was coming, and she 
shivered to her very marrow; and, as she was opposite Campardons’ 
door, she rang desperately, furiously, almost breaking the bell. 

“ Good heavens! is the house on fire?” asked an agitated voice 
inside. 

The door opened at once. It was Lisa, who was only then leaving 
mademoiselle, walking softly, and with a candlestick in her hand. 
The mad ringing of the bell had made her start, just as she was 
crossing the ante-room. When she caught sight of Berthe in her 
chemise, she stood rooted to the spot. 

“ What’s the matter?” asked she. 

The young woman had entered, violently slamming the door 
behind her; and, panting and leaning against the wall, she stam¬ 
mered out: 

“ Hush! keep quiet! He wants to kill me. ” 

Lisa was trying to get a sensible explanation from her, when 
Campardon appeared, looking very anxious. This incomprehensible 
uproar had disturbed Gasparine and him in their narrow bed. He 
had simply slipped on his trousers, and his fat face was swollen and 
covered with perspiration, whilst his yellow beard was quite flaccid 
and full of the white down of the pillow. He was all out of breath, 
and endeavoring to assume the assurance of a husband who sleeps 
alone. 

“Is that you, Lisa?” called he from the drawing-room. “It’s 
absurd! How is it you’re not up-stairs ? ” 

« I was afraid I had not fastened the door properly, sir; I could 
not sleep for thinking of it, so I came down to make sure. But it’s 
madame - ^ 

The architect, seeing Berthe leaning against the wall of his ante¬ 
room with nothing but her chemise on, stood lost in amazement also. 
Berthe forgot how scantily she was clad. 

“Oh! sir, keep me here,” repeated she. “He wants to kill 
me.” 

“ Who does ? ” asked he. 

“My husband.” 

The cousin now put in an appearance behind the architect. She 
had taken time to don a dress, and, her hair untidy and also full of 
down, her breast flat and hanging, her bones almost protruding 
through her garment, she brought with her the rancor arising from 
her interrupted repose. The sight of the young woman, of her 
plump and delicate nudity, only increased her ill-humor. 

“ Whatever have you done, then, to your husband? ” she asked, 


198 


POT-BOUILLE 


At this simple question Berthe was overcome by a great shame. 
She remembered she was half-naked, and blushed from head to 
foot. In this long thrill of shame, she crossed her arms over her 
bosom, as though to escape the glances directed at her. And she 
stammered out: 

“ He found me — he caught me-” 

The two others understood, and looked at each other with indig¬ 
nation in their eyes. Lisa, whose candle lighted up the scene, pre¬ 
tended to share her master’s reprehension. At this moment, 
however, the explanation was interrupted by Angele also hastening 
to the spot ; and she pretended to have just woke up, rubbing her 
eyes heavy with sleep. The sight of the lady with nothing on her 
but a chemise suddenly brought her to a standstill, with a jerk, a 
quivering of her precocious young girl’s slender body, 

“ Oh! ’’ she simply exclaimed. 

“ It’s nothing; go back to bed! ” cried her father. 

Then, understanding that some sort of story was necessary, he 
related the first that came into his head, but it was really too ludicrous. 

“ Madame sprained her ankle coming down-stairs, so she’s come 
here for assistance. Go back to bed; you’ll catch cold! ” 

Lisa choked back a laugh on encountering Angle’s wide-open 
eyes, as the latter returned to her bed, all rosy, and quite delighted 
at having seen such a sight. F,or some minutes past Madame 
Campardon had been calling from her room. She had not put her 
light out, being so interested in her Dickens, and she wished to 
know what had happened. What did it all mean ? who was there? 
why did not some one come to set her mind at rest ? 

“ Come, madame, ” said the architect, taking Berthe with him. 
“ And you, Lisa, wait a minute.” 

In the bed-room, Rose was still spread out in the middle of the 
big bed. She throned there with her queenly luxury, her quiet 
serenity of an idol. She was deeply affected by what she had read, 
and she had placed the book on her breast, with the heavings of 
which it gently rose and fell. When the cousin in a few words had 
made her acquainted with what had taken place, she also appeared 
to be scandalized. How could one go with a man who was not one’s 
husband? and she was filled with disgust for that which was denied 
to her. But the architect now cast confused glances at the young 
woman, and this ended by making Gasparine blush. 

“ It is shocking! ” cried she. “ Cover yourself up, madame, for 
it is really shocking! Pray cover yourself up! ” 

And she herself threw a shawl of Rome’s over Berthe’s shoulders, 
a large knitted woolen shawl which was lying about. It did not 
reach to her knees, however, and in spite of himself the architect’s 
eyes wandered over the young woman’s person. 

Berthe was still trembling. Though she was in safety, she kept 
starting and looking toward the door. Her eyes were full of tears, 
and she beseeched this lady, who seemed so calm and comfortable 
as she lay in bed: 


POT-BOUILLE 


199 


“ Oh! madame, keep me, save me. He wants to kill me.” 

A pause ensued. The three were consulting one another with 
their eyes, without hiding their disapproval of such culpable con¬ 
duct. Besides, it was not proper to come in a state of nudity and 
wake people up after midnight, and perhaps put them to great 
inconvenience. No, such a thing was not right; it showed a want 
of discretion, besides placing them in a very awkward position. 

“ We have a young girl here, ” said Gasparine at length. “ Think 
of our responsibility, madame.” 

“ You would be better with your parents,” insinuated the archi¬ 
tect, u and if you will allow me to see you to their door-” 

Berthe was again seized with terror. 

“ No, no ! He is on the stairs; he would kill me. ” 

And she implored him to let her remain: a chair was all she 
needed to wait on till morning; on the morrow, she would go quietly 
away. The architect and his wife would have consented; he won 
over by such tender charms; she interested by the drama of this 
surprise in the middle of the night. But Gasparine remained inflex¬ 
ible. Yet she had her curiosity to satisfy, and she ended by 
asking: 

u Wherever were you? ; 

“ Up-stairs, in the room at the end of the passage, you know.” 

At this, Campardon held up his arms and exclaimed: 

“ What! with Octave ! it isn’t possible! ” 

With Octave, with that bean-stalk, such a pretty, plump little 
woman! He was annoyed. Rose, also, felt vexed, and was now 
inclined to be severe. As for Gasparine, she was quite beside her¬ 
self, stung to the heart by her instinctive hatred of the young man. 
He again ! she knew very well that he had them all; but she was 
certainly not going to be so stupid as to keep them warm for him in 
her home. 

“ Put yourself in our place, ” resumed she, harshly. “ I tell you 
again we have a young girl here. ” 

“ Besides,” said Campardon, in his turn, “ there is the house to 
be considered; there is your husband, with whom I have always 
been on the best of terms. He would have a right to be surprised. 
It will never do for us to appear to publicly approve your conduct, 
madame, oh! a conduct which I do not permit myself to judge, but 
which is rather — what shall I say ? — rather indiscreet, is it not ? ” 

“ We are certainly not going to cast stones at you,” continued 
Rose. “ Only, the world is so wicked! People will say that 
you had your meetings here. And, you know, my husband 
works for some very strait-laced people. At the least stain on his 
morality, he would lose everything. But, allow me to ask you, 
madame, how is it you were not restrained by religion ? The Abbe 
Mauduit was talking to us of you quite paternally, only the day 
before yesterday. ” . _ . 

Berthe turned her head about between the three of them, looking 
at the one who spoke, in a bewildered sort of way. In the midst of 


200 


POT-BOUILLE 


her fright, she was beginning to understand; she felt surprised at 
being there. Why had she rang; what was she doing amongst 
these people whom she disturbed ? She saw them clearly now — 
the wife occupying the whole width of the bed, the husband in his 
drawers, and the cousin in a thin skirt, the pair of them white with 
the feathers of the same pillow. They were right; it was not 
proper to tumble amongst people in that way. And, as the archi¬ 
tect pushed her gently toward the ante-room, she went off without 
even answering Rose’s religious regrets. 

“ Shall I accompany you as far as your parents’ door? ” asked 
Campardon. “ Your place is with them.” 

She refused, with a terrified gesture. 

“ Then, wait a moment; I will take a look up and down the stairs, 
for I should deeply regret if the least harm happened to you. ” 

Lisa had remained in the middle of the ante-room, with her can¬ 
dle. He took it, went out onto the landing, and returned almost 
immediately. 

“ I assure you there is no one. Run up quick.” 

Then Berthe, who had not again opened her lips, hastily took off 
the woolen shawl, and threw it on the floor, saying: 

“ Here! this is yours. It’s no use keeping it, as he’s going to kill 
me! ” 

And she went out into the darkness, with nothing on but her 
chemise, the same as when she came. Campardon double locked 
the door in a fury, murmuring the while: 

11 Eh ! go and get tumbled elsewhere! ” 

Then, as Lisa burst out laughing behind him, he added : 

“ It’s true, they’d be coming every night, if one received them. 
Every one for himself. I would have given her a hundred francs: 
but my reputation ! no, by Jove ! ” 

In the bed-room, Rose and Gasparine were recovering themselves. 
Had any one ever seen such a shameless creature ? to walk about 
the staircase with nothing on! Really! there were women who 
respected nothing, at certain times! But it was close upon two 
o’clock; they must get to sleep. And they embraced again: good 
night, my darling — good night, my duck. Eh! was it not nice to 
love each other, and to always agree together, when one beheld such 
catastrophes occurring in other families ? Rose again took up her 
Dickens; he supplied all her requirements; she would read a few 
more pages, then let the book slip into the bed, the same as she did 
every night, and fall off asleep, weary with emotion. Campardon 
followed Gasparine, made her get into bed first, and then laid himself 
down beside her. They both 7 grumbled; the sheets had become 
cold again; they were not at all comfortable; it would take them 
another half-hour to get warm. 

And Lisa, who, before going up-stairs, had returned to Angele’s 
room, was saying to her: 

“ The lady has sprained her ankle. Come, show me how she 
sprained it.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


201 


“Why! like this!” replied the child, throwing herself on the 
maid’s neck, and kissing her on her lips. 

Berthe was on the stairs shivering. It was cold, the heating 
apparatus was not lighted till the beginning of November. Her 
fright had at length abated. She had gone down and listened at 
her door: nothing, not a sound. Then she had gone up, not daring 
to venture as far as Octave’s room, but listening from a distance : 
there was a death-like silence, unbroken by a murmur. 

Suddenly, a noise affrighted her, causing her to jump up, and she 
was about to hammer with both her fists on her mother’s door, when 
some one calling out stopped her. 

It was a voice almost as faint as a zephyr. 

“ Madame —madame — ” 

She looked down-stairs, but saw nothing. 

“ Madame — madame — it’s I. ” 

And Marie showed herself in her chemise also. She had heard 
all the disturbance, and had slipped out of bed, leaving Jules 
asleep, whilst she remained listening in her little dining-room with¬ 
out a light. 

“ Come in. You are in trouble. I am a friend.” 

She gently reassured her, and told her all that had taken place. 
The men had not hurt each other: he had cursed and swore, and 
pushed the chest of drawers up against his door, to shut himself in; 
whilst the other had gone down-stairs with a bundle in his hand, the 
things she had left behind, her shoes and petticoat, which he must 
have rolled up mechanically in her dressing-gown, on seeing them 
lying about. In short, it was all over. It would be easy enough to 
prevent them fighting on the morrow. 

But Berthe remained standing on the threshold with a remnant 
of fear and shame at thus entering the abode of a lady whom she 
did not habitually frequent. Marie was obliged to lead her in by 
the hand. 

“ You will sleep there, on that sofa. I will lend you a shawl, and 
I will go and see your mother. Good heavens ! what a misfortune ! 
When one is in love, one does not stop to think.” 

“ Ah ! for the little pleasure we had ! ” said Berthe, with a sigh, 
which was full of the cruelty and stupidity of her unprofitable 
night. “ He does right to swear. If he’s like me, he’s had more 
than enough of it! ” 

They were on the point of speaking of Octave. They said noth¬ 
ing further, but suddenly fell sobbing into each other’s arms in the 
dark. Their limbs clasped with a convulsive passion, their bosoms, 
hot with tears, were pressed close together beneath their crumpled 
chemises. It was a final weariness, an immense sadness, the end of 
everything. They did not say another word, whilst their tears 
flowed, flowed without ceasing, in the midst of the darkness and of 
the profound slumber of that house so full of decency. 


202 


POT-BOUILLE 


CHAPTER XV. 

That morning the house awoke with a great middle-class dignity. 
Nothing of the staircase preserved a trace of the scandals of the 
night, neither the imitation marble which had reflected that gallop 
of a woman in her chemise, nor the Wilton carpet from which all 
the odor of her semi-nudity had evaporated. Monsieur Gourd alone, 
when he went up-stairs toward seven o’clock to give his look round, 
sniffed at the walls; but what did not concern him, did not concern 
him; and as, on going down-stairs again, he saw two of the servants 
in the courtyard, Lisa and Julie, who were no doubt discussing the 
catastrophe, for they seemed deeply interested, he stared at them 
so fixedly that they at once separated. Then he went outside to 
make sure of the tranquillity of the street. It was calm. Only, the 
servants must already have been talking, for some of the neighbors’ 
wives stopped, tradespeople came to their shop doors, looking up in 
the air, examining and searching the different floors, in the gaping 
way in which the crowd scrutinizes houses where a crime has been 
committed. In the presence of the rich frontage, however, people 
held their tongues and politely passed on. 

At half-past seven, Madame Juzeur appeared in a dressing-gown, 
to look after Louise, she said. Her eyes sparkled, and her hands 
were feverishly hot. She stopped Marie, who was going up with 
her milk, and endeavored to get her to talk; but she could draw 
nothing out of her, and did not even learn how the mother had 
received her guilty daughter. Then, under the pretense of waiting 
a minute for the postman, she entered the Gourds’ room, and ended 
by asking why Monsieur Octave did not come down; perhaps he 
was ill. The doorkeeper replied that he did not know; moreover, 
Monsieur Octave never came down before ten minutes past eight. 
At this moment, the other Madame Campardon, pale and erect, 
passed by; every one bowed to her. And Madame Juzeur, obliged 
to go up-stairs again, had the luck, on reaching the landing, to meet 
the architect just starting off and putting on his gloves. At first 
they both looked at each other in a dejected sort of way; then he 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Poor things! } ) murmured she. 

“ No, no, it serves them right! ” said he ferociously. u An 
example must be made of them. A fellow whom I introduce into a 
respectable house, beseeching him not to bring any women there, 
and who, to humbug me, goes and sleeps with the landlord’s sister- 
in-law ! I look like a fool in it all! ” 

No more was said. Madame Juzeur entered her apartments, 
whilst Campardon continued on his way down-stairs in such a state 
of fury that he tore 'one ofhis gloves. 

Just as eight o’clock was striking, Auguste,, looking very dejected- 


POT-BOUILLE 


203 


his features contracted by an atrocious headache, crossed the court¬ 
yard to go to his warehouse. Filled with shame, and dreading to 
meet any one, he had come down by way of the servants’ staircase. 
However, he could not leave his business to take care of itself. 
When in the midst of his counters, and before the pay-desk where 
Berthe usually sat, his emotion almost choked him. The porter was 
taking down the shutters, and Auguste was giving the orders for 
the day, when the abrupt appearance of Saturnin coming up from 
the basement gave him an awful fright. The madman’s eyes were 
like flames of fire, his white teeth resembled a famished wolf’s. He 
went straight up to the husband, clenching his fists. 

“ Where is she ? If you touch her, I’ll bleed you to death like a 
pig! ” 

Auguste drew back, exasperated. 

11 Here’s this one, now! ” 

11 Shut up, or I’ll bleed you! ” repeated Saturnin, making a rush 
at him. 

Then the husband preferred to beat a retreat. He had a horror 
of madmen; one could not reason with such people. But, as he 
went out into the porch, calling to the porter to shut Saturnin up in 
the basement, he found himself face to face with Valerie and Tlieo- 
phile. The latter, who had caught a frightful cold, was wrapped 
up in a big red comforter, and coughed and moaned. They must 
both have known everything, for they stopped before Auguste with 
an air of condolence. Since the quarrel about the inheritance, the 
two couples had been sworn enemies, and were no longer on speak¬ 
ing terms. 

“ You still have a brother,” said Theophile, shaking him by the 
hand, when he had finished coughing. “ I wish you to remember it 
in your misfortune.” 

“ Yes,’’added Valerie,” this ought to avenge me, for she said some 
filthy things to me, did she not ? But we pity you all the same, for 
we are not quite heartless.” 

Auguste, deeply touched by their kind manner, led them to the 
end of his warehouse, keeping an eye on Saturnin, who was prowl¬ 
ing about. And, there, their reconciliation became complete. 
Berthe’s name was not mentioned; only, Valerie allowed it to be 
understood that all the unpleasantness arose from that woman, for 
there never had been a disagreeable word said in the family till she 
had entered it to dishonor them. Auguste, his eyes cast on the 
ground, listened and nodded his head approvingly. And a certain 
gayety gleamed beneath Theophile’s commiseration, for he was 
delighted at no longer being the only one, and he examined his 
brother’s face to see how a person looks when in that awkward 

position. m „ . . _ , 

“ Now, what have you decided to do? ” inquired he. 

“ To challenge him, of course ! ” firmly replied the husband. 

Theophile’s joy was spoilt. His wife and he became cooler, in 
the presence of Auguste’s courage. The latter related to them the 


204 


POT-BOUILLE 


frightful scene of the night — how, having been foolish enough to 
hesitate purchasing a pistol, he had been forced to content himself 
with merely slapping the gentleman’s face; and to tell the truth, 
the gentleman had done the same to him, but that did not prevent 
his having received a pretty good hiding! A scoundrel who had 
been making a fool of him for six months past by pretending to 
take his part against his wife, and whose impudence had gone as 
far as making reports respecting her on the days she went out! As 
for her, the creature, as she had gone to her parents, she could 
remain with them; he would never take her back. 

“ Would you believe that last month I allowed her three hundred 
francs for her dress! ” cried he. “ I who am so kind, so tolerant, 
who had decided to put up with everything sooner than make 
myself ill! But one cannot put up with that—no! no! one cannot!” 

Theophile was thinking of death. He trembled feverishly, and 
almost choked as he said: 

“ It’s absurd, you will get spitted. I would not fight.” 

And, as Valerie looked at him, he added, in an embarrassed man¬ 
ner : 

“ If such a thing happened to me.” 

“ Ah ! the wretched woman ! ” then murmured his wife, “ when 
one thinks that two men are going to kill each other on account of 
her ! In her place I could never sleep again. ” 

Auguste remained firm. He would fight. Moreover, his plans were 
settled. As he particularly wished Duveyrier to be second, he was 
going up to inform him of what had taken place, and to send him 
at once to Octave. Valerie, who was most obliging to Auguste, 
ended by offering to attend at the pay-desk, to give him time to 
find a suitable person. 

“ Only,” added she, “ I must take Camille to the Tuileries gar¬ 
dens toward two o’clock. ” 

“ Oh! it does not matter for once in a way! said her husband. 
“ It’s raining, too. ” 

“ No, no, the child wants air. I must go out.” 

At length the two brothers went up to the Duveyriers’. But an 
abominable fitof coughing obliged Theophile to stop on the very first 
stair. He held on the hand-rail, and, when he was able to speak, 
though still with a slight rattle in his throat, he stammered: 

il Ypu know, I’m very happy now; I’m quite sure of her, No; 
I’ve not the least thing to reproach her with, and she has given me 
proofs.” 

Auguste stared at him without comprehending, and saw how yel¬ 
low and half dead he looked, with the scanty hairs of his beard dry¬ 
ing up in his flabby flesh. The look completed Theophile’s annoy¬ 
ance, whilst he felt quite embarrassed by his brother’s valor. 

“Iam speaking of my wife,” he resumed. “Ah! poor old fel¬ 
low, I pity you with all my heart! You recollect my stupidity on 
your wedding day. But with you there can be no mistake, as you 
saw them.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


205 


u Bah! ” said Auguste, doing the brave, u I’ll spit him like a 
lark. On my word, I shouldn’t care a hang if I hadn’t such a 
headache! ” 

Just as they rang at the Duveyriers’ door, Theophile suddenly 
thought that very likely the counselor would not be in, for since 
the day he had found Clarisse, he had been drifting into bad habits, 
and had now even got to the point of sleeping out. Hippolyte, who 
opened the door to them, avoided answering with respect to his 
master; but he said that the gentlemen would find madame playing 
her scales. They entered. Clotilde, tightly laced up from the 
moment she got out of bed, was seated at her piano, practicing with 
a regular and continuous movement of her hands; and, as she went 
in for this kind of exercise for two hours every day, so as not to lose 
the lightness of her touch, she occupied her mind in another way, 
by reading the “ Revue des deux Mondes,” which stood open on the 
piano before her, without the agility of her fingers being in any way 
hampered. 

“ Why! it’s you! ” said she, when her brothers had drawn her 
from the volley of notes, which isolated and enveloped her like a 
storm of hail. 

And she did not even show her surprise when she caught sight of 
Theophile. The latter, moreover, kept himself very stiff, like a 
man who had come on another’s account. Auguste, filled with 
shame at the thought of telling his sister of his misfortune, and 
afraid of terrifying her with his duel, had a story all ready. But 
she did not give him time to lie, she questioned him in her quiet 
way, after looking at him intently. 

“ What do you intend doing now ? ” 

He started and blushed. So every one knew it, then ? and he 
answered in the brave tone which had already closed Theophile’s 
mouth: 

11 Why, fight, of course! ” 

“ Ah ! ” said she, greatly surprised this time. 

However, she did not disapprove. It would increase the scandal, 
but yet honor had to be satisfied. She contented herself with 
recalling that she had at first opposed the marriage. One could 
expect nothing of a young girl who appeared to be ignorant of all 
a woman’s duties. Then, as Auguste asked her where her husband 
was: 

“ He is traveling,” answered she, without the least hesitation. 

Then he was quite distressed, for he did not wish to do anything 
before consulting Duveyrier. She listened to him, without mention¬ 
ing the new address, unwilling to acquaint her family with her home 
troubles. At length she hit on an expedient: she advised him to 
go to Monsieur Bachelard, in the Rue d’Enghien; perhaps he would 
be able to tell him something. And she returned to her piano. 

“ it’s Auguste who asked me to come up,” Theophile, who had 
not spoken until then, thought it necessary to declare. u Will you 
let me kiss you, Clotilde? We are all in trouble.” 


206 


POT-BOUILLE 


She presented her cold cheek, and said: 

“ My poor fellow, only those are in trouble who choose to be. As 
for me, I forgive every one. And take care of yourself, you seem to 
me to have a very bad cough. ” 

Then, calling to Auguste, she added: 

“ If the matter does not get settled, let me know, for I shall then 
be very anxious. ” 

The storm of notes recommenced, enveloping and drowning her; 
and, whilst her nimble fingers practiced the scales in every key, she 
gravely resumed her reading of the “ Revue dex'deux Mondes,” in 
the midst of it all. 

Down-stairs, Auguste for a moment discussed the question whether 
he should go to Bachelard’s or not. How could he say to him: 
“ Your niece has deceived me? ” At length, he decided to obtain 
Duveyrier’s address from the uncle, and to tell him nothing. Every¬ 
thing was settled: Valerie would look after the warehouse, whilst 
Theophile would watch the home, until his brother’s return. The 
latter had sent for a cab, and he was just going off, when Saturnin, 
who had disappeared a moment before, came up from the basement 
with a big kitchen knife, which he flourished about, as he cried: 

, ‘‘I’ll bleed him! I’ll bleed him ! ” 

This created another scare. Auguste, turning very pale, jumped 
precipitately into the cab, and pulled the door to, saying: 

u He’s got another knife! Wherever does he find all those knives ? 
I beseech you, Theophile, send him away, try and arrange that he 
shall no longer be here when I come back. As though what has 
already happened were not bad enough for me! ” 

The porter had hold of the madman by his shoulders. Valerie 
told the driver the address. But he, a fat and filthy looking man, 
with a face the color of bullock’s blood, and still drunk from the 
night before, did not hurry himself, but took his time to gather up 
the reins and make himself comfortable on the box. 

“ By distance, governor? ” asked he, in a hoarse voice. 

“ No, by the hour, and quickly please. There will be something 
handsome for yourself. ” 

In the Rue d’Enghein, he met with another vexation. To begin 
with, the commission agent’s doorway was so blocked up with vans 
that he almost got crushed; then he found himself in the court¬ 
yard with the glass roof, amidst a crowd of packers all violently 
nailing up cases, and not one of whom could tell him where Bache- 
lard was. The hammering seemed to split his skull. He was, how¬ 
ever, making up his mind to wait for the uncle, when an apprentice, 
pitying his suffering look, came and whispered an address in his ear: 
Mademoiselle Fifi, Rue Saint-Marc, third floor. Old Bachelard was 
most likely there. 

u Where do you say? ” asked the driver, who had fallen asleep. 

11 Rue Saint-Marc, and a little faster, if it’s possible.” 

The cab resumed its funereal crawl. On the boulevards, the 
wheel caught in an omnibus. The panels cracked, the springs 


POT-BOUILLE 


207 


uttered plaintive cries, a gloomy melancholy more and more over¬ 
came the husband in his search of his second. However, they at 
last reached the Rue Saint-Marc. 

On the third floor, the door was opened by a little old woman, 
plump and white. She seemed suffering from some strong emotion, 
and she admitted Auguste directly he asked for Monsieur Baclie- 
lard. 

# 11 Ah ! sir, you are one of his friends, surely. Pray try to calm 
him. Something happened to vex him a little while ago, the poor 
dear man. You know me, no doubt, he must have spoken to you of 
me: lam Mademoiselle Menu. ” 

Auguste, feeling quite scared, found himself in a narrow room 
overlooking the courtyard; and as clean and peaceful as a country 
home. One could almost detect the odor of order and work, the 
purity of the happy existence of people in a quiet way. Seated 
before an embroidery frame, on which a priest’s stole was stretched, 
a fair young girl,, pretty and having a candid air, was weeping bit¬ 
terly ; whilst uncle Bachelard, standing up, his nose inflamed, his 
eyes bloodshot, was driveling with rage and despair. He was so 
upset that Auguste’s entry did not appear to surprise him in the 
least. He immediately called upon him to bear witness, and the 
scene continued. 

“ Come now, MonsieurVabre, who are anhonestman, what would 
you say in my place ? I arrived here this morning a little earlier 
than usual. I entered her room with the sugar from the cafe 
and three four-sou pieces, just for a surprise for her, and I find her 
with that pig Gueulin ! No, there, frankly what would you say? ” 

Auguste, greatly embarrassed, turned very red. He at first 
thought that the uncle knew of his misfortune and was making a 
fool of him. But the other added, without even waiting for a 
reply: 

u Ah ! listen, mademoiselle, you don’t know what it is you have 
done! I who was becoming young again, who felt so delighted at 
having found a nice quiet little nook, where I was once more begin¬ 
ning to believe in happiness ! Yes, you were an angel, a flower, in 
short something fresh which helped me to forget a lot of dirty 
women.” 

A genuine emotion contracted his throat, his voice choked in 
accents of profound suffering. Everything was crumbling away, and 
he wept for the loss of the ideal, with the hiccoughs of a remnant 
of drunkenness. 

“ I did not know uncle,” stammered Fifi, whose sobs redoubled 
in presence of this pitiful spectacle; u no, I did not know it would 
cause you so much grief.” 

And indeed she did not look as if she did know. She retained 
her ingenuous eyes, her odor of chastity, the naivete of a little girl 
unable as yet to distinguish a gentleman from a lady. Aunt Menu, 
moreover, swore that at heart she was innocent. 

“ Do be calm, Monsieur Narcisse. She loves you well all the 


208 


POT-BOUILLE 


same. I felt that it would not be very agreeable to you. I said to 
her : 4 If Monsieur Narcisse learns this, he will bo annoyed.’ But 
she has scarcely lived as yet, has she ? She does not know what 
pleases, nor what does not please. Do not weep any more, as her 
heart is always for you. ” 

As neither the child nor the uncle listened to her, she turned 
toward Auguste, she told him how much more anxious such an 
adventure made her feel for her niece’s future. 

“ Perhaps you know Villeneuve, near Lille I ” said she in conclu¬ 
sion. 44 I come from there. It is a pretty large town-” 

But Auguste’s patience was at an end. He shook himself free of 
the aunt, and turned toward Bachelard, whose noisy despair was 
calming down. 

44 I came to ask you for Duveyrier’s new address. I suppose you 
know it. ” 

44 Duveyrier’s address, Duveyrier’s address,” stammered the 
uncle. 44 You mean Clarisse’s address. Wait a moment.” 

And he went and opened the door of Fifi’s bed-room. Auguste 
was greatly surprised on seeing Gueulin, whom the old man had 
locked in, come forth. Ho had wished to give him time to dress 
himself, and also to detain him, so as to decide afterward what he 
would do. with him. The sight of the young man looking all upset, 
his hair still unbrushed, revived his anger. 

“What! wretch! it’s you, my nephew, who dishonors me! You 
soil your family, you drag my white hairs in the mire! Ah! you’ll 
end badly, we shall see you one of these days, in the dock of the 
assize-court! ” 

Gueulin listened with bowed head, feeling at once both embar¬ 
rassed and furious. 

44 I say, uncle,you’re going too far,” murmured he. 44 There’s a 
limit to everything. I don’t think it funny either. Why did you 
bring me to see mademoiselle? I never asked you. You dragged 
me here. You drag everybody here. ” 

But Bachelard, again overcome with tears, continued: 

44 You’ve taken everything from me j I had only her left. You’ll 
be the cause of my death, and I won’t leave you a sou, not a 
sou! ” 

Then Gueulin, quite beside himself, burst out: 

44 Go to the deuce! I’ve had enough of it! Ah! it’s as I’ve 
always told you! here they come, here they come, the annoyances 
of the morrow! See how it succeeds with me, when for once in a 
way I’ve been fool enough to take advantage of an opportunity. 
Of course! the night was very pleasant; but, afterward, go to 
blazes! one will be blubbering like a calf for the rest of one’s 
life.” 

44 I am in a great hurry, ” Auguste ventured to observe. 44 Please 
give me the address, just the name of the street and the number, I 
require nothing further.” 

44 The address,” -said the uncle, 44 wait a bit, directly.” 


POT-BOUILLE 


209 


And, carried away by his feelings, which were overflowing, he 
caught hold of Gueulin’s hands. 

“ You ungrateful fellow, I was keeping her for you, on my word 
of honor! I said to myself: If he’s good, I’ll give her to him. Oh! 
in a proper manner, with a dowry of fifty thousand francs. And, 
you dirty beast! you can’t wait, you go and take her like that, all on 
a sudden!” 

“ No, let me be! ” said Gueulin, affected by the old chap’s kind¬ 
ness of heart. “ I see very well that the annoyances are going to 
continue.” 

But Bachelard dragged him before the young girl and asked 
her: 

“ Come now, Fifi, look at him, would you have loved him? ” 

“ If it would have pleased you, uncle,” answered she. 

This kind reply quite broke his heart. He wiped his eyes, blew 
his nose, and almost choked. Well! he would see. He had always 
wished to make her happy. And he suddenly sent Gueulin off 
about his business. 

“ Be off. I will think about it. ” 

Just as Gueulin was leaving, Bachelard called him back; 

“ Kiss her on the forehead; I permit it.” 

And then he went himself and put him outside the door, after 
which he returned to Auguste, and, placing his hand on hig heart, 
he said: 

“ It’s no joke; I give you my word of honor that I intended giving 
her to him, later on.” 

“ And the address? ” asked the other, losing all patience. 

The uncle appeared surprised, as though he had answered him 
before. 

“ Eh ? what? Clarisse’s address? Why, I don’t know it.*’ 

Auguste made an angry gesture. Everything was going wrong : 
there seemed to be a regular plot to render him ridiculous! Seeing 
him so upset, Bachelard made a suggestion. No doubt, Trublot 
knew the address, and they might find him at his employer’s — the 
stockbroker, Desmarquay. And the uncle, with the obliging man¬ 
ner of one accustomed to knock about, offered to accompany his 
young friend. The latter accepted. 

“ Listen! ” said the uncle to Fifi, after kissing her in his turn 
on the forehead: “ here’s the sugar from the cafe, all the same, and 
three four-sou bits for your money-box. Behave well whilst await¬ 
ing my orders. ” 

The young girl, looking very modest, continued drawing her 
needle with exemplary application. A ray of sunshine, coming from 
over a neighboring roof, enlivened the little room, gilded this nook 
of innocence, into which the noise of the passing vehicles did not 
even penetrate. All the poetry of Bachelard’s nature was stirred. 

“ May God bless you, Monsieur Narcisse! ” said aunt Menu to 
him as she saw him to the door. “Iam more easy now. Only 
listen to the dictates of your heart, for it will inspire you. ” 


210 


POT-BOUILLE 


The driver had again fallen asleep, and he grumbled when the 
uncle gave him Monsieur Desmarquay’s address in the Rue Saint- 
Lazare. No doubt the horse was asleep also, for it required quite a 
hail of blows to get him to move. At length the cab rolled pain¬ 
fully along. 

“ It’s hard all the same, ” resumed the uncle, after a pause. “ You 
can’t imagine the effect it had on me when I saw Grueulin in his 
shirt. No; one must have gone through such a thing to under¬ 
stand it. ” 

And he went on, entering into every detail, without noticing 
Auguste’s increasing uneasiness. At length the latter, feeling his 
position becoming falser and falser, told him why he was in such a 
hurry to find Duveyrier. 

“ Berthe with that counter-jumper! ” cried the uncle. “ You 
astonish me, sir! ” 

And it seemed that his astonishment was especially on account of 
his niece’s choice. However, after a little reflection, he became very 
indignant. His sister Eleonore had a great deal to reproach herself 
with. He would have nothing more to do with the family. Of 
course, he was not going to mix himself up with the duel; but he 
considered it indispensable. 

“ Thus, just now, when I saw Fifi with a man, my first thought 
was to murder every one. If the same thing should ever happen to 
you——” 

A painful start of Augustus caused him to interrupt himself. 

“ Ah ! true, I was forgetting. My story does not interest you. ” 

Another pause ensued, whilst the cab swayed in a melancholy 
fashion. 

“ I told you Rue Saint-Lazare, ” called out the uncle to the driver. 
“ It isn’t at Chaillot. Turn to the left. ” 

At length the cab stopped. Out of prudence they sent up for 
Trublot, who came down bareheaded to talk to them in the door¬ 
way. 

“ You know Clarisse’s address? ” asked Bachelard. 

“ Clarisse’s address? Why, of course! Rue d’Assas.” 

They thanked him, and were about to re-enter their cab, when 
Auguste asked in his turn: 

“ What’s the number? ” 

“ The number! Ah! I don’t know the number. ” 

At this, the husband declared that he preferred to give up seeing 
Duveyrier altogether. Trublot did all he could to try and remem¬ 
ber. He had dined there once, it was just behind the Luxembourg; 
but he could not recollect whether it was at the end of the street, 
or on the right or the left, But he knew the door well; oh ! he 
could have said at once, “ That’s it.” Then the uncle had another 
idea; he begged him to accompany them in spite of Auguste’s pro¬ 
testations, and his talking of returning home and not wishing to 
disturb any one any further. Trublot, however, refused in a con¬ 
strained manner. No, he would not trust himself in that hole again. 


POT-BOUILLE 


211 


11 Well, I’m off, as Monsieur Trublot can’t come,” said Auguste, 
whose worries were increased by all these stories. 

But Trublot then declared that he would accompany them all the 
same; only, he would not go upj he would merely show them the 
door. And, after fetching his hat, and giving a pretext for going 
out, he joined them in the cab. “Rue d’Assas,” said he to the 
driver. “ Straight down the street; I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

The driver swore. Rue d’Assas, by Jove ! there were people who 
liked going about. However, they would get there when they did 
get there. The big white horse steamed away without making 
hardly any progress, his neck dislocated in a painful bow at every 
step. 

Bachelard was already relating his misfortune to Trublot. Such 
things always made him talkative. Yes, with that pig Gueulin, a 
most delicious little thing ! But at this point of his story he recol¬ 
lected Auguste, who, gloomy and doleful, was sitting in a heap in a 
corner of the cab. 

“ Ah! true j I beg your pardon! ” murmured he; “I keep for¬ 
getting. ” 

And, addressing Trublot, he added: 

“ Our friend has met with a misfortune in his home also, and that 
is why we are trying to find Duveyrier. Yes, he found his wife last 
night — ” 

He finished with a gesture, then added simply: 

“ Octave, you know.” 

Trublot, always plain-spoken, was about to say that it did not 
surprise him. Only, he caught back his words, and replaced them 
by others, full of disdainful anger, and the explanation of which 
the husband did not dare to ask him for: 

“ What an idiot that Octave is! ” said he. 

At this appreciation of adultery there ensued another pause. 
Each of the three men was buried in his own reflections. The cab 
scarcely moved at all. It seemed to have been rolling for hours 
over a bridge, when Trublot, who was the first to emerge from his 
thoughts, ventured on making this judicious remark: 

“ This cab doesn’t get along very fast.” 

But nothing could increase the horse’s pace. It was eleven 
o’clock when they reached the Rue d’Assas. And there they wasted 
nearly another quarter of an hour, for, in spite of Trublot’s boasts, 
he could not find the door. At first he allowed the driver to go 
along the street to the very end without stopping him; then he made 
him drive up and down three times over. And, on his precise 
indications, Auguste kept entering every tenth house j but the 
doorkeepers all answered that they knew no one of the name. At 
length a green-grocer pointed out the door to him. He went in 
with Bachelard, leaving Trublot in the cab. 

It was the big rascal of a brother who admitted them.. He had 
a cigarette stuck between his lips, and blew the smoke into their 
faces as he showed them into the drawing-room. When they asked 


212 


POT-BOUILLE 


for Monsieur Duveyrier, he stood looking at them in a jocular 
manner without answering. Then he disappeared, perhaps to fetch 
him. In the middle of the blue satin drawing-room, all luxuriously 
new, yet already stained with grease, one of the sisters, the youngest, 
was seated on the carpet scouring out a saucepan which she had 
brought from the kitchen; whilst the other, the eldest, was ham¬ 
mering with her clenched fists on a magnificent piano, the key of 
which she had just found. On seeing the gentlemen enter, they 
had both raised their heads; neither, however, left off her occupa¬ 
tion, but continued on the contrary hammering and scouring more 
energetically than ever. Five minutes passed, yet no one came. 
The visitors, feeling almost deafened, stood looking at each, when 
some yells, issuing from a neighboring room, completely terrified 
them; it "was the invalid aunt being washed. 

At length an old woman, Madame Bocquet, Clarisse’s mother, 
passed her head through a partly opened door, not daring to show 
any more of her person, because of the filthy dress she had on. 

“ What do you gentlemen desire?” asked she. 

“ Why, Monsieur Duveyrier! ” exclaimed the uncle, losing 
patience. “We have already told the servant. Let him know that 
Monsieur Auguste Yabre and Monsieur Narcisse Bachelard wish to 
see him.” 

Madame Bocquet shut the door again. The eldest of the sisters 
was now mounted on the music stool, and was hammering with her 
elbows, whilst the youngest was scraping the saucepan with an iron 
fork, so as to get all she could out of it. Another five minutes passed 
by. Then, in the midst of the uproar, which did not seem to disturb 
her in the least, Clarisse appeared. 

“ Ah! it’s you! ” said she to Bachelard, without even looking at 
Auguste. 

“ You know, my old fellow, ” added she, “ if you’ve come to tipple, 
you may as well get out at once. The old life’s done with. I now 
intend to be respected.” 

“ We haven’t called on your account, ” replied Bachelard, recover¬ 
ing himself, used as he was to the lively receptions of such ladies. 
“ We must speak to Duveyrier.” 

Then Clarisse looked at the other gentleman. She took him for a 
bailiff, knowing that Alphonse was already in a mess. 

“ Oh! after all, I don’t care,” said she. “ You can take him and 
keep him if you like. It’s not so very pleasant to have to dress his 
pimples! ” 

She no longer even took the trouble to conceal her disgust, 
certain, moreover, that all her cruelties only attached h im to her the 
more. 

And opening a door, she added : 

“ Here ! come along, as these gentlemen persist in seeing you.” 

Duveyrier, who seemed to have been waiting behind the door, 
entered and shook their hands, trying to conjure up a smile. He 
no longer had the youthful air of bygone days, when he used to 


POT-BOUILLE 


213 


spend the evening at her rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie; he looked 
overcome with weariness, he was mournful and much thinner, start¬ 
ing at every moment, as though he were uneasy about something 
behind him. 

Clarisse remained to listen. Bachelard, who did not intend to 
speak before her, invited the counselor to lunch. 

u Now, do accept, Monsieur Vabre wants you. Madame will be 
kind enough to excuse-” 

But the latter had at length caught sight of her sister hammering 
on the piano, and she slapped her and turned her out of the room, 
taking the same opportunity to cuff and drive away the little one 
with her saucepan. There was a most infernal uproar. The invalid 
aunt in the next room again started off yelling, thinking they 
were coming to beat her. 

“ Do you hear, my darling? ” murmured Duveyrier, “ these gen¬ 
tlemen have invited me to lunch.” 

But she was not listening to him, she was trying the instrument 
with frightened tenderness. For a month past, she had been learn¬ 
ing to play the piano. It was the secret dream of her whole life, a 
far-away ambition the realization of which could alone stamp her a 
woman of society. Having satisfied herself that there was nothing 
broken, she was about to prevent her lover from going, simply to 
annoy him, when Madame Bocquet once more bobbed her head in 
at the door, again hiding her skirt. 

u Your music-master, ” said she. 

At this Clarisse changed her mind, and called to Duveyrier : 

“ That’s it, be off! I’ll lunch with Theodore. We don’t want 
you. ” 

After kissing her on the hair, he discreetly withdrew, leaving her 
with Theodore. In the ante-room, the big rascal of a brother asked 
him in his jocular way for a franc for tobacco. Then, as they went 
down-stairs, Bachelard expressed surprise at his conversion to the 
(Charms of the piano, and he swore he had never disliked it; he 
talked of the ideal, saying how much Clarisse’s simple scales stirred 
his soul, yielding to his continual mania for having a bright side to 
his coarse masculine appetites. 

Down below, Trublot had given the driver a cigar, and was lis¬ 
tening to his history with the liveliest interest. The uncle insisted 
on lunching at Foyot’s; it was the proper time, and they could talk 
better whilst eating. Then, when the cab had managed to start off 
again, he told everything to Duveyrier, who became very grave. 

Auguste’s uneasiness seemed to have increased at Clarisse’s, where 
he had not opened his mouth; and now, worn out by this intermin¬ 
able drive, his head entirely a prey to a violent aching, he aban¬ 
doned himself. . 

When the counselor questioned him as to what he intended doing, 
he opened his eyes, and remained a moment filled with anguish; 
then he repeated his former phrase : 

“ Why, fight, of course ! ” 


214 


POT-BOUILLE 


Only, his voice was weaker, and he added, as he closed his eyes, 
as though to ask to he left alone: 

“ Unless you have anything else to suggest.” _ 

Then the gentlemen held a grand council in the midst of the 
laborious jolts of the vehicle. Duveyrier, the same as Bachelard, 
considered the duel indispensable; and he was deeply affected by it, 
on account of the blood likely to be spilt, a long black stream of 
which he pictured soiling the stairs of his property; but honor 
demanded it, and one cannot compound with honor. Trublot had 
broader views : it was too stupid to place one’s honor in what out 
of decency he termed a woman’s frailty. And Auguste approved 
what he said by a weary blink of his eyelids, thoroughly incensed 
at last by the bellicose rage of the two others, whose duty it was on 
the contrary to have been conciliatory. In spite of his fatigue, he 
was obliged to relate once more the scene of the night before, the 
blow he had given and the blow he had received; and soon the fact 
of the adultery was lost sight of, the discussion bore solely upon 
these two blows: they were commented upon, and analyzed, as a 
satisfactory solution was sought for. 

“ What refinement! ” Trublot ended by contemptuously saying. 
“ If they hit each other, well! they’re quits. ” 

Duveyrier and Bachelard looked at one another, evidently shaken 
in their opinions. But just then they arrived at the restaurant, and 
the uncle declared that they would first of all have a good lunch. 
It would help to clear their ideas. He stood treat, ordering a copi¬ 
ous meal, with costly dishes and wines, which kept them three hours 
in a private room. The duel was not even once mentioned. From 
the very beginning, the conversation had necessarily turned on the 
question of women; Fifi and Clarisse were during the whole time 
explained, turned inside out, and pulled to pieces. Bachelard now 
admitted himself to have been in the wrong, so as not to appear to 
the counselor as having been vilely chucked over; whilst the latter, 
taking his revenge for the evening when the uncle had seen him 
weep in the middle of the empty rooms in the Rue de la Cerisaie, 
lied about his happiness, to the point of believing in it and being 
affected by it himself. Seated before them, Auguste, prevented by 
his neuralgia both from eating and drinking, appeared to be listen¬ 
ing, an elbow on the table, and a confused look in his eyes. At des¬ 
sert, Trublot recollected the driver, who had been forgotten outside; 
and, full of sympathy, he sent him the remnants of the dishes and 
what was left in the bottles; for, said he, from certain things he had 
let drop, he had a suspicion the man was an ex-priest. Three 
o’clock struck. Duveyrier complained of being assessor at the next 
sitting of the assizes; Bachelard, who was now very drunk, spat 
sideways onto Trublot’s trousers, without the latter noticing it; and 
the day would have been finished there, amidst the liquors, if 
Auguste had not suddenly roused himself with a start. 

“ Well, what’s going to be done ? ” asked he. 

“ Well! young ’un,” replied the uncle, speaking most familiarly, 



POT-BOUILLE 


215 


“ if you like, we’ll settle matters nicely for you. It’s stupid to 
fight.” 

No one appeared surprised at this conclusion. Duveyrier signified 
his approval with a nod of the head. The uncle continued: 

“ I’ll go with Monsieur Duveyrier and see the fellow, and he shall 
apologize, or my name isn’t Bachelard. The mere sight of me will 
make him cave in, just because I shall have no business there. I 
don’t care a hang for anyone!” 

Auguste shook him by the hand; but he did not seem to feel 
relieved, the pain in his head had become so unbearable. At length 
they left the private room. Down in the street, the driver was still 
at lunch, inside the cab; and, completely intoxicated, he had to 
shake the crumbs out, digging Trublot fraternally in the stomach. 
Only the horse, which had had nothing at all, refused to walk, with 
a despairing wag of the head. They pushed him, and he ended by 
going down the Rue de Tournon, as though he were rolling along. 
Four o’clock had struck, when the animal at length stopped in the 
Rue de Choiseul. Auguste had had the cab seven hours. Trublot, 
who remained inside, engaged it for himself, and declared that he 
would wait there for Bachelard, whom he wished to invite to dinner. 

“ Well! you have been a time,” said Theophile to his brother, as 
he hastened to meet him. “ I thought you were dead.” 

And directly the gentlemen had entered the warehouse, he related 
how the day had passed. He had been watching the house ever 
since nine o’clock. But nothing particular had occurred. At two 
o’clock, Valerie had gone to the Tuileries gardens with their son 
Camille. Then, toward half past three, he had seen Octave go 
out. And that was all. Nothing moved, not even at the Josserands’. 
Saturnin, who had been seeking his sister under the furniture, hav¬ 
ing gone up to ask for her, Madame Josserand had shut the door in 
his face, doubtless to get rid of him, saying that Berthe was not 
there. Since then, the madman had been prowling about with 
clenched teeth. 

“Very well,” said Bachelard, “we’ll wait for the gentleman. 
We shall see him come in from here.” 

Auguste, whose head was in a whirl,, was making great efforts to 
keep on his legs. Then Duveyrier advised him to go to bed. 
There was no other cure for headache. 

“ Go up now, we no longer require you. We will inform you of 
the result. My dear fellow, you know you should avoid all emotions. ” 

And the husband went up to lie down. 

At five o’clock, the two others were still waiting for Octave. 
The latter, without any definite object, simply desirous of hav¬ 
ing some fresh air and of forgetting the events of the night, 
had at first passed before “The Ladies’ Paradise, ” where he had 
stopped to wish Madame Hedouin good-day, as she stood in the 
doorway, dressed in deep mourning; and as he informed her of his 
having left the Vabres’, she had quietly asked him why he did not 
return to her. 


216 


POT-BOUILLE 


Opposite to him, Valerie was taking leave of a bearded gentle¬ 
man, at the door of a low lodging-house in the darkest corner. She 
blushed and hastened away, pushing open the padded door of the 
church; then, seeing that the young man was following her and 
smiling, she preferred to await him under the porch, where they 
conversed together very cordially. 

“ You run away from me, ” said he. “ Are you, then, angry with 
me? ” 

“ Angry ? ” repeated she, “ why should I he angry ? Ah ! they 
may quarrel and eat each other up if they like, it doesn’t matter to 
me! ” 

She was speaking of her relations. And she at once gave vent to 
her old rancor against Berthe, making at first simply allusions 
so as to sound the young man; then, when she felt he was 
secretly weary of his mistress, being still exasperated with the 
night’s proceedings, she no longer restrained herself, but poured out 
her heart. To think that that woman had accused her of selling 
herself— she, who never accepted a sou, not even a present! Yes, 
though, a few flowers at times, some bunches of violets. And now 
everybody knew which of the two was the one to sell herself. She 
had prophesied that one day it would be known how much she 
could be bought for. 

“ It cost you more than a bunch of violets, did it not?’.’ asked 
she. 

“ Yes, yes,” murmured he basely. 

In his turn he let out some disagreeable things about Berthe, 
saying that she was spiteful, and even making her out to be too fat, 
as though seeking to avenge himself for the worry she was causing 
him. He had been waiting all day for her husband’s seconds, and 
he was then returning home to see if any one had called. It was a 
most stupid adventure; she might very well have prevented this 
duel taking place. He ended by relating all that had occurred at 
their ridiculous meeting — their quarrel, then Auguste’s arrival on 
the scene, before they had even exchanged a caress. 

“ On all I hold most sacred,” said he, “ I had not even touched 
her.” 

Valerie laughed, and was getting quite excited. She gradually 
yielded to the tender intimacy of this exchange of confidences, 
drawing nearer to Octave as though to some female friend who 
knew all. At times, a devotee coming from the church disturbed 
them; then the door generally closed to again, and they once more 
found themselves alone in the drum, hung with green baize, as 
though in the innermost recesses of some discreet and religious 
asylum. 

“I scarcely know why I live with such people,” resumed she, 
returning to the subject of her relations. “ Oh! no doubt, I am 
not free from reproach on my side. But, frankly, I cannot feel any 
remorse, they affect me so little. And yet if I were to tell you how 
much love bores me! ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


217 


11 Come now, not so much as all that! ” said Octave gayly. 
u People are not always as silly as we were yesterday. There are 
blissful moments. ” 

Then she confessed herself. It was not entirely the hatred she 
felt for her husband, the continual fever which shook his frame, his 
impotence, nor yet his perpetual blubbering like a little boy, which 
had caused her to misbehave herself six months after her marriage ; 
no, she often did it involuntarily, solely because her head got filled 
with things of which she was unable to explain the why and the 
wherefore. Everything gave way; she became quite ill, and could 
almost kill herself. Then, as there was nothing to restrain her, she 
might as well take that leap as another. 

“ But really now, do you never have a nice time of it?” again 
asked Octave. 

“ Well, never like people describe,” replied she. 

He looked at her full of a pitying sympathy. All for nothing, 
and without the least pleasure. It was certainly not worth the 
trouble she gave herself, in her continual fear of being caught. 
And he especially felt a certain relief to his pride, for he had always 
suffered a little at heart from her old disdain. He recalled the cir¬ 
cumstance to her. 

11 You remember, after one of your attacks ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, I remember. Still, I did not dislike you; but listen! 
it is far better as it is, we should be detesting each other now.” 

She gave him her little gloved hand. He squeezed it, as he 
repeated: 

“ You are right; it is better as it is. Really, one only cares for 
the women one has had nothing to do with. ” 

It was quite a blissful moment. They stood for a while hand in 
hand, deeply affected. Then, without another word, they pushed 
open the padded door of the church, inside which she had left her 
son Camille in care of the woman who let out the chairs. The child 
had fallen asleep. She made him kneel down, and did the same 
herself for a minute, burying her face in her hands, as though in 
the midst of a fervent prayer. And she was rising to her feet when 
Abbe Mauduit, who was coming from a confessional, greeted her 
with a paternal smile. 

Octave had simply passed through the church. When he returned 
home every one was on the alert. In the doorway, as Octave passed, 
Lisa, who was gossiping with Adele, had to content herself with 
merely staring at him; and both resumed their complaints of the 
dear price of poultry beneath the stern look of Monsieur Gourd, who 
bowed to the young man. As the latter was going up to his room, 
Madame Juzeur, who had been on the watch ever since the morning, 
slightly opened her door, and, seizing hold of his hands, drew him 
into her ante-room, where she kissed him on the forehead and mur¬ 
mured : 

“ Poor child! There, I won't keep you, Come back and talk 
with me when it's all over. ” 


218 


POT-BOUILLE 


And he had scarcely reached his own apartment when Duveyrier 
and Bachelard called. At first, amazed at seeing the uncle, he 
wished to give them the names of two of his friends. But these 
gentlemen, without answering, spoke of their age, and preached him 
a sermon on his misconduct. Then, as in the course of conversation 
he announced his intention of leaving the house at the earliest pos¬ 
sible moment, they both solemnly declared that that proof of his 
discretion was quite sufficient. There had been more than enough 
scandal; the time had come when respectable people had the right 
to expect them to make the sacrifice of their passions. Duveyrier 
accepted Octave’s notice to quit on the spot, and withdrew, whilst, 
behind his back, Bachelard invited the young man to dine with him 
that evening. 

“ Mind, I count upon you. We’re on the spree ; Trublot is wait¬ 
ing below. I don’t care a button for Eleonore. But I don’t wish to 
see her, and I’ll go down first, so that no one shall meet us together. ” 

He took his departure, and, five minutes later, Octave, delighted 
with the issue of affairs, joined him below. He slipped into the cab, 
and the melancholy horse, which had been dragging the husband 
about for seven hours, limped along with them to a restaurant near 
the Halles, where some marvelous tripe was to be obtained. 

Duveyrier had gone back to Theophile in the warehouse. Valerie 
also had just come in, and all three were talking together when Clo- 
tilde herself returned from a concert. She had gone there, more¬ 
over, with a mind perfectly at ease, certain, said she, that some 
arrangement satisfactory to every one would be arrived at. Then 
ensued a pause, a momentary embarrassment between the two fami¬ 
lies. Theophile, seized with an abominable fit of coughing, was 
almost spitting his teeth out. As it was to their mutual interest to 
be reconciled, they ended by taking advantage of the emotion into 
which the new family troubles had plunged them. The two women 
embraced; Duveyrier swore to Theophile that the Vabre inherit¬ 
ance was ruining him, yet he promised to indemnify him by remit¬ 
ting his rent for three years. 

“ I must go and tranquilize poor Auguste,” at length observed 
the counselor. 

He was ascending the stairs, when some terrible cries, resembling 
those of an animal being butchered, issued from the bed-room. It 
was Saturnin, who, armed with his kitchen knife, had noiselessly 
crept as far as the alcove; and there, his eyes as red as flaming 
coals, his mouth covered with foam, he had rushed upon Auguste. 

“ Tell me! where have you put her ? ” cried he. “ Give her back 
to me, or I’ll bleed you like a pig! ” 

The husband, suddenly roused from his painful slumber, tried to 
fly. But the madman, with the strength of his fixed idea, had 
caught him by the tail of his shirt, and, pushing him back on the 
mattress, placing his neck on the edge of the bed, over a basin 
which happened to be there, he held him in the position of an ani¬ 
mal at the slaughter-house. 


POT-BOUILLE 


219 


“ All! it’s all right this time. Pm going to bleed you—Pm going 
to bleed you like a pig! ” 

Fortunately, the others arrived and were able to release the vic¬ 
tim. But Saturnin, who was raving mad, had to be shut up : and, 
two hours later, the commissary of police having been sent for, he 
was taken for the second time to the Asile des Moulineaux, with the 
consent of the family. Poor Auguste lay trembling. He said to 
Duveyrier, who informed him of the arrangement that had been 
come to with Octave : 

u No, I should have preferred to have fought the duel. One can¬ 
not defend oneself against a madman. Why has he such a mania 
for wishing to bleed me, the brigand ? because his sister has made a 
cuckold of me ? Ah! I’ve had enough of it, my friend, I’ve had 
enough of it, on my word of honor! ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Ois the Wednesday morning, when Marie brought Berthe to 
Madame Josserand, the latter, bursting with anger at the thought 
of an adventure which she felt was a sad blow to her pride, became 
quite pale and unable to utter a word. 

She caught hold of her daughter’s hand with the roughness of a 
teacher dragging a refractory scholar to the black-hole, and, leading 
her to Hortense’s room, she pushed her inside, saying at length: 

“ Hide yourself, never show yourself again. You will kill your 
father if you do. ” 

“ What’s up? Whatever have you done?” asked her sister, 
whose astonishment increased on seeing her wrapped in an old 
shawl which Marie had lent her. “ Has poor Auguste fallen ill at 

Lyons ? ” _ . 

But Berthe would not answer. No, later on; there were things 
she could not speak about j and she beseeched Hortense to go away, 
to let her have the room to herself, so that she could at least weep 
there in peace. .The day passed thus. Monsieur Josserand had 
gone off to his office, without having the faintest idea of what had 
occurred; then, when he returned home in the evening, Berthe still 
remained in hiding. As she had refused all food, she ended by 
ravenously devouring the little dinner which Adele brought to her in 
secret. The maid remained watching her, and, in presence of her 

appetite, said: , 

“ Don’t worry yourself so much, pick up your strength. The 
house is quite quiet. And as for any one being killed or wounded, 
there’s nobody hurt at all.” 

“ Ah! ” said the young woman. 

She questioned Ad61e, who gave her a long account of how the 



220 


POT-BOUILLE 


day had passed; the duel which had not come off; what Monsieur 
Auguste had said, and what the Duveyriers and the Yabres had 
done. She listened to her, and seemed to live again, gobbling every¬ 
thing up, and asking for more bread. In all truth it was foolish of 
her to take the matter so much to heart when the others seemed to 
be already consoled! 

“ So you won’t tell me? ” asked Hortense again. 

“ But, my darling,” answered Berthe, “you’re not married. I 
really can’t. It’s a quarrel I’ve had with Auguste. He came back, 
you know-” 

And as she interrupted herself, her sister resumed, impatiently: 

“ Get along with you! What a fuss! Good heavens! at my age, 
I’m quite old enough to know! ” 

Then Berthe confessed herself, at first choosing her words, then 
letting out everything, talking of Octave and talking of Auguste. 
Hortense listened as she lay on her back in the dark, and merely 
uttered a few words to question her sister or to give an opinion: 
“ What did he say to you then ? And you, how did you feel ? Well, 
that’s funny; I shouldn’t like that! Ah! really! so that’s the way! ” 

Midnight, one o’clock, then two struck; still they went on with 
the story, their limbs little by little irritated by the sheets, and 
themselves gradually becoming drowsy. 

“ Oh! as for me, with Verdier, it will be very simple,” declared 
Hortense, abruptly. “ I shall do just as he wishes.” 

At the mention of Verdier’s name Berthe gave a movement of 
surprise. She thought the marriage was broken off, for the woman 
with whom he had been living for fifteen years past had just had a 
child, at the very moment that he intended leaving her. 

“ Do you, then, expect to marry him all the same? ” asked she. 

“Well land why not? I was stupid enough to wait too long. 
But the child will die. It’s a girl, and all scrofulous. ” 

“ Poor woman! ” Berthe was unable to help exclaiming. 

“ How, poor woman! ” cried Hortense, sourly. “ It’s "easy to see 
that you also have things to reproach yourself with! ” 

She at once regretted her cruelty, and, taking her sister in her 
arms, kissed her, and swore that she did not mean it. Then they 
were silent. But still they could not sleep, so continued the story, 
their eyes wide open in the darkness. 

The next morning, Monsieur Josserand did not feel very well. Up 
till two o’clock, he had persisted in addressing wrappers, in spite of 
a lowness of spirits, and of a gradual loss of strength, of which he 
had been complaining for some time. He got up, however, and 
dressed himself; but, when he was on the point of starting for his 
office, he felt so feeble that he sent a messenger with a letter to 
inform the brothers Bernheim of his indisposition. 

The family were about to have their breakfast. On seeing her 
husband remain, Madame Josserand decided not to hide Berthe any 
longer; she was already sick of all the mystery, and was, moreover, 



POT-BOUILLE 


221 


expecting every minute to see Auguste come up and create a 
disturbance. 

“ What! you’re going to breakfast with us! whatever is the mat¬ 
ter ? ” asked the father in great surprise, on beholding his daugh¬ 
ter, her eyes heavy with sleep, her bosom half-bursting through 
Hortense’s too tight dressing-gown. 

“ My husband has written to say that he is obliged to stay at 
Lyons,” answered she, “so I thought of spending the-day with 
you. ” 

“ Is it really true ? You are not hiding anything from me ? ” 
murmured he. 

“ What an idea! why should I hide anything from you ? ” 

Madame Josserand merely allowed herself to shrug her shoulders. 
What was the use of all those precautions ¥ to gain an hour, per¬ 
haps ; it was not worth while; the father would always have to 
receive the blow in the end. The breakfast, however, passed off 
most pleasantly. 

But a regrettable scene spoilt the end of the breakfast. All on a 
sudden,.Madame Josserand addressed the servant: 

11 Whatever are you eating? ” 

For some little while past she had been watching her. Adele, 
dragging her shoes after her, turned clumsily round the table. 

“ Nothing, madame,” replied she. 

“ How! nothing! You’re chewing; I’m not blind. See ! you’ve 
got your mouth full of it. Oh ! it’s no use drawing in your cheeks; 
it’s easy to see in spite of that. And you’ve got some in your 
pocket, haven’t you? ” 

AdMe became confused, and tried to draw back. But Madame 
Josserand caught hold of her by the skirt. 

“ For a quarter of an hour past, I’ve been watching you take 
something out of there and thrust it under your nose, after hiding it 
in your hand. It must be something very good. Let me see what 
it is. ” 

She dived into the pocket in her turn, and withdrew a handful of 
cooked prunes. The juice was still trickling from them. 

“ What is this ? ” cried she furiously. 

“ Prunes, madame,” said the servant, who, seeing herself caught, 

became insolent. , . , _ ; 

« Ah! you eat my prunes ! So that’s why they go so quickly and 
never again appear on the table ! I could never have believed it 
possible; prunes! in a pocketl ” _ 

And she also accused her of drinking her vinegar. Everything 
disappeared j one could not even have a potato about without being 
certain of never seeing it again. 

“ You’re a regular gulf, my girl.” 

a Give me sufficient to eat,” retorted Ad61e boldly, and then I 
won’t touch your potatoes. ” 3 

This was too much. Madame Josserand rose from her seat, 
majestic and terrible. 


222 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Hold your tongue, and don’t answer me! Oli! I know, it’s the 
other servants who’ve spoilt you. Directly a simpleton arrives in 
a house from the country, all the hussies in the place at once put 
her up to all sorts of horrors. You no longer go to mass, and now 
you steal! ” 

Adele, who had indeed been worked up by Lisa and Julie, did 
not yield. 

“ When I was a simpleton, as you say, you should not have taken 
advantage of me. It’s ended now.” 

“ Leave the room, I discharge you! ” cried Madame Josserand, 
pointing to the door with a tragical gesture. 

She sat down quite shaken, whilst the maid, without hurrying 
herself, dragged her shoes after her, and swallowed another prune 
before returning to the kitchen. 

The breakfast, however, finished in the most affectionate intimacy. 
Monsieur Josserand, deeply mowed, spoke of poor Saturnin, who 
had had to be taken away the day before during his absence from 
home; and, as he believed, in a sudden fit of raving madness, with 
which his son had been seized in the middle of the shop, for such 
was the story that had been told him. 

“ How is the marriage getting on? ” asked Monsieur Josserand, 
discreetly. 

At first the mother replied in well-chosen phrases, on account of 
Hortense. Now, she was at the feet of her son, a young fellow who 
was sure to succeed; and she would even throw his name in the 
father’s face at times, saying that, thank goodness! he took after 
her, and would never leave his wife without a pair of shoes. She 
little by little warmed with her subject. 

“ In short, he’s had enough of it! It was all very well fora 
while, and did him no harm. But, if the aunt doesn’t give him the 
niece, good night! he’ll cut off all supplies. I think he is quite 
right.” 

"Hortense, out of decency, sipped her coffee, making a show of 
obliterating herself behind the cup; whilst Berthe, who for the 
future might hear anything, gave a slight pout of repugnance at 
her brother’s successes. The family were about to rise from table, 
and Monsieur Josserand, who was more cheerful and feeling much 
better, was talking of going to his office all the same, when Adffie 
brought in a card. The person was waiting in the drawing¬ 
room. 

“ What, it’s her! and at this hour of the morning! ” exclaimed 
Madame Josserand. “And I who haven’t got my stays on! So 
much the worse! it’s time I gave her a piece of my mind! ” 

The visitor was Madame Dambreville. The father and his 
two daughters remained talking in the dining-room, whilst the 
mother directed her steps to the drawing-room. But she stopped 
at the door before opening it, and anxiously examined her old green 
silk dress, trying to button it up, picking off the threads gathered 
from the floors, and driving in her immense bosom with a tap. 


POT-BOUILLE 


223 


u Excuse me, dear madame,” said the visitor, with a smile. “ J 
was passing, so could not resist calling to see how you were. ” 

She was all laced up, and had her hair done in the most correct 
style, while she conversed in the easy way of an amiable woman 
who had just come up to wish a friend good-day. Only, her smile, 
trembled, and behind her society graces one could detect a frightful 
anguish, with which her whole frame quivered. She at first talked 
of all sorts of things, avoiding any mention of L6on’s name, but at 
length she took from her pocket a letter which she had just received 
from him. 

“ Oh! such a letter, such a letter,” murmured she, in an altered 
voice, half-broken with sobs. “ Whatever is it he has to complain 
of, dear madame? He says he will never come to our house 
again! ” 

And her feverish hand held out the letter, which quite shook 
as she offered it to Madame Josserand. The latter read it coldly. 
It was a breaking off of the acquaintance in three lines of most cruel 
conciseness. 

“Really!” said she, as she returned the letter, “ L6on is not 
perhaps altogether wrong-” 

But Madame Dambreville at once began to praise up the widow 
— a woman scarcely thirty-five years old, most accomplished and 
sufficiently rich, who would make a Minister of her husband, she 
was so active. In short, she had kept her promises, she had found 
a fine match for Leon; whatever had he to be angry about? And, 
without waiting for a reply, making up her mind with a nervous 
start, she named Raymonde, her niece. Really, now, was it possible? 
a chit of sixteen, a young savage who knew nothing of life! 

“ Why not ? ” Madame Josserand kept repeating at each inter¬ 
rogation, “ why not, if he loves her ? ” 

No! no! he did not love her — he could not love her! Madame 
Dambreville struggled, and gradually abandoned herself. 

“ Come,” cried she, “ I only ask him for a little gratitude. It’s I 
who have made him, it’s thanks to me that he is an auditor, and he 
will receive a higher appointment on his wedding day. Madame, I 
implore you, tell him to return to me, tell him to do me that pleasure. 
I appeal to his heart, to your motherly heart, yes, to all that is noble 
in your nature-” 

She clasped her hands, her words became inarticulate. A pause 
ensued, during which they were standing face to face. Then sud¬ 
denly she burst out into the most bitter sobs, vanquished, and no 
longer mistress of herself. 

“Not with Raymonde,” stuttered she, “oh! no, not with Ray¬ 
monde!” . , _ „ .. , 

“Keep quiet, my dear, you make me quite ashamed,” replied 
Madame Josserand, angrily. “ I have daughters who might hear 
you. I know nothing, and I don’t wish to know anything. If you 
have affairs with my son, you must settle them together. I will 
never place myself in a questionable position. ” 


224 


POT-BOtJILLE 


Yet she loaded her with advice. At her age, one should resign 
oneself to the inevitable. 

“ Just think, dear friend, he is not yet thirty. I should be grieved 
to appear unkind, but you might be his mother. Oh, he knows 
what he owes you, and I myself am filled with gratitude. You will 
remain his guardian angel. Only, when a thing is ended, it is 
ended. You could not possibly have hoped to have kept him 
always!” 

And as the wretched woman refused to listen to reason, wishing 
simply to have him back, and at once, the mother grew quite angry. 

“ Do have done, madame! It is kind on my part to be so oblig¬ 
ing. The boy will have no more of it! it is easily to be understood. 
Look at yourself, pray! It is I now who would call him back to his 
duty, if he submitted again to your exactions-; for, I ask you, what 
good can there be in it for both of you in future? It so happens 
that he is coming here, and if you have counted on me-” 

Of all these words, Madame Dambreville only heard the last 
phrase. For a week past she had been running about after L6on, 
without succeeding in seeing him. Her face brightened up; she 
uttered this cry from her heart: 

“ As he is coming, I shall stay! ” 

From that moment she made herself at home, seating herself like 
a heavy mass in an arm-chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy, declining 
any further questioning with the obstinacy of an animal which will 
not yield, even when beaten. Madame Josserand, bitterly regretting 
having said too much, exasperated with this sort of mile-stone 
which had become a fixture in her drawing-room, yet not daring to 
turn her out, ended by leaving her to herself. Moreover, some 
sounds coming from the dining-room made her feel uneasy. She 
fancied she recognized Auguste’s voice. 

“On my word of honor! madame, one never heard of such a 
thing before! ” said she, violently slamming the door. “ It is most 
indiscreet! ” 

It was indeed Auguste, who had come up to have the explanation 
with his wife’s parents which he had been meditating since the day 
before. Monsieur Josserand, feeling jollier still, and more inclined 
for a little enjoyment than for office duties, was proposing a walk 
to his daughters, when Adele came and announced Madame Ber¬ 
the’s husband. It created quite a scare. The young woman turned 
pale. 

“ What! your husband ? ” said the father. “ But he was at Lyons! 
Ah! you were not speaking the truth. There is some misfortune; 
for two days past I have seemed to feel it. ” 

And, as she rose from her seat, he detained her. 

“Tell me, have you been quarreling again? about money, is it 
not? Eh? perhaps because of the dowry, of the ten thousand 
francs we have not paid him ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, that’s it, ” stammered Berthe, who released herself 
and fled. 


POT-BOUILLE 225 

Hortense also had risen. She ran after her sister, and both took 
refuge in her room. 

“ Come in, come in, my dear Auguste,” said he, in a choking tone 
of voice. “ Berthe has just told me of your quarrel. I’m not very 
well, and they’ve been spoiling me. I regret immensely not being 
able to give you that money. I did wrong in promising, I know 

“ Yes, sir, I know all. You completely took me in with your lies. 
I don’t mind so much not having the money; but it’s the hypocrisy 
of the thing which exasperates me ! Why all that nonsense about 
an assurance which did not exist ? Why give yourself such airs of 
tenderness and affection, by offering to advance sums which, accord¬ 
ing to y^u, you would not be entitled to receive till three years 
iater ? And you were not even blessed with a sou! Such behavior 
has only one name in every country.” 

Monsieur Josserand opened his mouth to exclaim : “It is not I; 
it is them ! ” But he was ashamed to accuse the family; he bowed 
his head, thus accepting the responsibility of the disgraceful action. 
Auguste continued: 

“ Moreover, every one was against me, even that Duveyrier 
behaved like a rascal, with his scoundrel of a notary; for I asked to 
have the assurance mentioned in the contract, as a guarantee, and 
I was made to shut up. Had I insisted, though, you would have 
been guilty of swindling. Yes, sir, swindling! ” 

At this accusation, the father, who was very pale, rose to his feet, 
and he was about to answer, to offer his labor, to purchase his 
daughter’s happiness with all of his existence that remained to him, 
when Madame Josserand, quite beside herself through Madame 
Dambreville’s obstinacy, no longer thinking of her old green silk 
dress, now splitting, through the heaving of her angry bosom, 
entered like a blast of wind. 

“ Eh? what? ” cried she; “ who talks of swindling? Is it you, 
sir ? You would do better, sir, to go first to Pere-Lachaise ceme¬ 
tery to see if it’s your father’s pay-day! ” 

Auguste had expected this, but he was all the same horribly 
annoyed. She went on, with head erect, and quite crushing in her 
audacity: 

“ We’ve got them, your ten thousand francs. Yes, they’re there 
in a drawer. But we will only give them to you when Monsieur 
Vabre returns to give you the others. What a family! a gambler of 
a father who lets us all in, and a thief of a brother-in-law who pops 
the inheritance into his own pocket! ” 

“ Thief! thief! ” stammered Auguste, unable to contain himself 
any longer; “ the thieves are here, madame ! ” 

They both stood with heated countenances in front of each other. 
Monsieur Josserand, quite upset by all this wrangling, separated 
them. He beseeched them to be calm; and, trembling all over, he 
was obliged to sit down again. 

Pot-Bouille 15 


22G 


POT-BOUILLE 


“Anyhow,” resumed the son-in-law, after a pause, “I won’t 
have any strumpet in my house. Keep your money and keep your 
daughter That is what I came up to tell you. ” 

“ You are changing the subject,” quietly observed the mother. 

“ Very well, we will discuss the fresh one.” 

“ I told you she would deceive me!” cried Auguste, with an air 
of indignant triumph. 

“ And I answered that you were doing everything to lead to such 
a result!” declared Madame Josserand, victoriously. “Oh! I do 
not pretend that Berthe is right; what she has done is simply idiotic; 
and she won’t lose anything by waiting. I shall let her know what 
I think of it. But, however, as she is not present, I can state the 
fact — you alone are guilty.” 

“What! I guilty?” 

“ Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. You don’t know how to deal 
with women. Here’s an instance! Do you even deign to come to 
my Tuesday receptions? No; you perhaps put in an appearance 
three times during the season, and then only stay half-an-hour 
Though one may have headaches, one should be polite. Oh! of 
course, it’s no great crime; anyhow, it judges you; you don’t know 
how to live. ” 

Her voice hissed with a slowly gathered rancor; for, on marrying 
her daughter, she had above all counted on her son-in-law to fill 
her drawing-room. And he brought no one; he did not even come 
himself; it was the end of one of her dreams; she would never be 
able to struggle against the Duveyriers’ choruses. 

“ However, ” added she, ironically. “ I force no one to come and 
amuse himself in my home. ” 

“ The truth is, it is not very amusing there, ” replied he, out of all 
patience. 

This threw her into a towering rage. 

“ That’s it, insult away! Learn, sir, that I might have all the high 
life of Paris if I wished, and that I was not looking to you to help 
me to keep my rank in society! ” 

There was no longer any question of Berthe; the adultery had 
disappeared before this personal quarrel. Monsieur Josserand 
continued to listen to them, as though he were tossing about in the 
midst of some nightmare. It was not possible; his daughter could 
not have caused him this grief; and he ended by painfully rising 
again from his seat and going, without saying a word, in search of 
Berthe. Directly she was there, she would throw herself into 
Auguste’s arms, and then everything would be explained and for¬ 
gotten. He found her in the midst of a quarrel with Hortense, who 
was urging her to implore her husband’s forgiveness, having already 
had enough of her, and being unwilling to share her room any 
longer. The young woman resisted, yet she ended by following her 
father. As they returned to the dining-room, where the breakfast 
cups were still scattered over the table, Madame Josserand was 
exclaiming: 


POT-BOUILLE 


227 


il No, on my word of honor! I don’t pity you. ” 

On catching sight of Berthe she stopped speaking, and again 
retired into her stern majesty. When his wife appeared before him, 
Auguste made a gesture of protest, as though to remove her from 
his path. 

“ Come,” said Monsieur Josserand, in his gentle and trembling 
voice, “ what is the matter with you all? I can’t make it out; you 
will drive mo mad with all your quarreling. Your husband is mis¬ 
taken, is he not, my child? You will explain things to him. You 
must have a little consideration for your old parents. Embrace 
each other; now, come, do it for my sake. ” 

Berthe, who would all the same have kissed Auguste, stood there 
awkwardly, and half-choked by her dressing-gown, on seeing him 
draw back with an air of tragical repugnance. 

“ What! you refuse to, my darling ? ” continued the father. 
“ You should take the first step. And you, my dear boy, encourage 
her; be indulgent.” ' 6 

The husband at length gave free vent to his anger. 

“ Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, 
sir! and with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish 
me to kiss her! In her chemise, sir! ” 

Monsieur Josserand stood lost in amazement. Then he caught 
hold of Berthe’s arm. 

“ You say nothing; can it be true ? On your knees, then! ” 

But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away. 

“ Your comedies are useless! they don’t take me in! Don’t try 
to shove her on my shoulders again; I’ve had her once too often. 
You hear me; never again! I would sooner go to law about it. 
Pass her on to some one else, if she’s in your way. And, besides, 
you’re no better than she is!” 

He waited till he was in the ante-room, and then further relieved 
himself by shouting out these last words: 

“ Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one’s daughter, one should 
not push her into a respectable man’s arms ! ” 

The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe 
had mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her 
eyes, and looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; 
whilst her mother sharply walked about, carried away by the 
tempest of her violent emotions. The father, utterly worn out, and 
with a face as white as that of a corpse, had sat down all by himself 
at the other end of the room, against the wall. An odor of rancid 
butter—butter of inferior quality purposely bought at the Halles — 
quite infected the apartment. 

u Now that that vulgar person has gone, ” said Madame Josserand, 
“ one may be able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the 
results of your incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your 
errors ? think you that such quarrels would be picked with either of 
the brothers Bernheim, with one of the owners of the Saint-Joseph 
glass works ? ” 


228 


POT-BOUILLE 


Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even 
stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a 
row; then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the 
room. 

“ Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. 
An d we will see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations 
after all that yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star! my 
sister is most polite! Listen; do you wish to know my opinion? 
Well! it is that if my father had not died, you would have killed 
him. As for your father-” 

Monsieur Josserand’s face became whiter than ever as he 
remarked: 

“ I beseech you, Eleonore. I abandon my father to you, and also 
all my relations. Only, I beseech you, let me be. I do not feel 
well. ” 

Berthe, taking pity on him, raised her head. 

“ Do leave him alone, mamma,” said she. 

So, turning toward her daughter, Madame Josserand resumed 
more violently than ever: 

“ Fve been keeping you for the last; you won’t lose by waiting! 
Yes, ever since yesterday Fve been bottling it up. But, I warn you, 
I can no longer keep it in — I can no longer keep it in. With that 
counter-jumper; I can scarcely believe it! Have you, then, lost all 
pride? I thought that you were making use of him, that you were 
just sufficiently amiable to cause him to interest himself in the busi¬ 
ness down-stairs; and I assisted you, I encouraged him. In short, 
tell me what advantage you saw in it all ? ” 

u None whatever,” stammered the young woman. 

“ Then, why did you take up with him? It was even more stupid 
than wicked.” 

“How absurd you are, mamma: one can never explain such 
things. ” 

Madame Josserand was again walking about. 

“ Ah! you can’t explain! Well! but you ought to be able to! 
There is not the slightest shadow of sense in misbehaving oneself 
like that, and it is this which exasperates me! Did I ever tell you 
to deceive your husband? did I ever deceive your father? He is 
here; ask him. Let him say if he ever caught me with any other 
man.” 

Her pace slackened and became quite majestic, and she slapped 
herself on her green bodice, driving her breasts back under her 
arms. 

“ Nothing; not a fault, not the least forgetfulness, even in thought. 
My life has been a chaste one. Yet God knows what I have had to 
put up with from your father! I have had every excuse; many 
women would have avenged themselves. But I had some sense, and 
that saved me. Before heaven! ” said she, “ I swear I would have 
restrained myself, even if the Emperor had pestered me! One loses 
too much. ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


229 


She took a few steps in silence, apparently reflecting, and then 
added: 

“ Moreover, it is the greatest possible shame.” 

Monsieur Josserand looked at her, looked at his daughter, and 
his lips moved, though no sound came from them; and his whole 
suffering being conjured them to put an end to this cruel explana¬ 
tion. But Berthe, who bent before violence, was wounded by her 
mother's lesson. She at length rebelled, for she was quite uncon¬ 
scious of her fault, thanks to the old education which she had 
received when a girl in search of a husband. 

11 Well! ” said she, boldly planting her elbows on the table, “ you 
should not have made me marry a man I did not love. Now I hate 
him, and I have taken another. ” 

“ In short, he bores me, and I bore him, ” declared she. “ It's not 
my fault, we don’t understand one another. As early as the morrow 
of our wedding-day, he looked as though he thought we had taken 
him in; yes, he was cold and put out, just like when he has a bad 
day’s sale. For my part, I did not amuse myself particularly with 
him. Really! I don’t think much of marriage if it offers no more 
pleasure than that! And that’s how it all began. So much the 
worse! it was bound to come; I’m not the most guilty.” 

She left off speaking, but shortly added, with an air of profound 
conviction: 

“ Ah! mamma, how well I understand you now! You remember, 
when you told us you had had more than enough of it.” 

Madame Josserand, standing up before her, had been listening 
for a minute with indignant amazement. 

“ Eh ? I said that! ” cried she. 

But Berthe, warming with her subject, would not stop. 

“ You have said so twenty times. And, besides, I shouldhave liked 
to have seen you in my place. Auguste is not kind like papa. You 
would have been fighting together about money matters before a 
week had passed. He would precious soon have made you say that 
men are only good to be taken in! ” 

“ Eh ? I said that’! ” repeated the mother, quite beside herself. 

She advanced so menacingly toward her daughter, that the father 
held out his hands in a suppliant gesture imploring mercy. The 
sounds of the two women’s voices struck him to the heart unceasingly; 
and, at each shock, he felt the wound extend. Tears gushed from 
his eyes as he stammered: 

“ Do leave off, spare me.” 

11 No, it is dreadful!” resumed Madame Josserand, in louder tones 
than ever. “ This wretched creature now pretends I am the cause 
of her shamelessness! You will see she will soon make out that it 
is I who have deceived her husband. So, it’s my fault! for that is 
what you seem to mean. It’s my fault! ” 

Berthe remained with her elbows on the table, very pale, butres- 

“ It’s very certain that, if you hsiA brought me up differently-.” 


230 


POT-BOUILLE 


She did not finish. Her mother gave her a clout with all her 
might, and such a hard one that it hanged .Berthe’s head down onto 
the table-cover. Her hand had been itching to give it, ever since 
the day before; it had been making her fingers tingle, the same as 
in those far-off days when the child used to oversleep herself. 

“ There! ” cried she, “ that’s for your education! Your husband 
ought to have beaten you to a jelly.” 

The young woman did not rise, but sat there sobbing, her cheek 
pressed against her arm. She forgot her twenty-four years, this 
clout brought her back to the slaps of other times, to a whole past 
of timorous hypocrisy. All her resolution of an emancipated grown¬ 
up person melted away in the great sorrow of a little girl. 

But, on hearing her weep so bitterly, the father was seized with a 
terrible emotion. He at length got up, quite distracted, and he 
pushed the mother away, saying: 

“You wish, then, to kill me between you ? Tell me, must I go on 
my knees to you? ” 

Madame Josserand, having relieved her feelings, and having 
nothing to add, was withdrawing in a royal silence, when she found 
Hortense listening behind the door as she suddenly opened it. This 
caused a fresh outburst. 

“ Ah ! so you were listening to all this filth ? The one does the 
most horrible things, and the other takes a delight in hearing about 
them ; the two make the pair. But, good heavens! whoever was 
it that brought you up ? ” 

Hortense, without being in the least moved, entered the room. 

“ It was not necessary to listen, one can even hear you in the 
kitchen. The servant is wriggling with laughter. Besides, I’m old 
enough to be married; there is no harm in my knowing.” 

“ Verdier, eh? ” resumed the mother bitterly. “ That’s all the 
satisfaction you give me. Now, you are waiting for the death of a 
brat. You may wait, she’s big and plump, so I’ve been told. It 
serves you right. ” 

A rush of bile gave a yellow hue to the young girl’s skinny coun¬ 
tenance. And, with clenched teeth, she replied: 

“Though she’s big and plump, Verdier can leave her. And I 
will make him leave her sooner than you think, just to spite you 
all. Yes, yes, I will get married without any one else’s assistance. 
They’re far too solid, the marriages you put together! ” 

Then, as her mother was advancing toward her, she added : 

“ Ah! you know, I don’t intend to be slapped ! Take care. ” 

They looked each other straight in the eyes, and Madame Josser¬ 
and was the first to yield, hiding her retreat beneath an air of 
scornful domination. But the father thought the battle was going 
to begin again. In the midst of his sobs, he kept repeating : 

“ I can bear it no longer — I can bear it no longer— ” 

The dining-room became once more wrapped in silence. Berthe, 
her cheek on her arm, and still heaving long, nervous sighs, was 
growing calmer. Hortense had quietly seated herself at the other 


POT-BOUILLE 


231 


end of the table, and was buttering the remainder of a roll, so as 
to pull herself together again. Well! butter at twenty-two sous 
could only be poison. And, as it left a stinking deposit at the bot¬ 
tom of the saucepans, Addle was explaining that it was not even 
economical, when a dull thud, a distant shake of the floor, suddenly 
caused them to listen intently. 

Berthe, all anxiety, at length raised her head. 

“ What’s that! ” asked she. 

“ It’s perhaps madame and the other lady, in the drawing-room,” 
said Addle. 

Madame Josserand had started with surprise, as she crossed the 
drawing-room. A woman was there all alone. 

“What? you again?” cried she, when she had recognized 
Madame Dambreville, whom she had forgotten. 

The latter did not stir. The family quarrels, the noisy voices, 
the slamming of doors, seemed to have passed over her without her 
having felt the least breath of them. She remained immovable, 
looking into vacancy, buried in a heap in her love-sick mania. But 
there was something at work within her, the advice of Ldon’s 
mother had upset her, and was deciding her to dearly purchase a 
few remnants of happiness. 

“ Come, ” resumed Madame Josserand, roughly, “ you can’t, you 
know, sleep here. I have had a note from my son, he is not com¬ 
ing,” 

Then Madame Dambreville spoke, her mouth all clammy from 
her long silence, as though she were just waking up. 

“Iam going, pray excuse me. And tell him from me that I have 
reflected. I consent. Yes, I will reflect still further, and perhaps 
I may help him to marry that girl, as he insists upon it. But it is I 
who give her to him, and I wish him to ask me for her, me alone, 
you understand ! Oh ! he must come back, he must come back ! ” 

Her ardent voice became quite beseeching. She added, in a lower 
tone, in the obstinate way of a woman who, after sacrificing every¬ 
thing, clings to a last satisfaction. 

“ He shall marry her, but he must live with us. Otherwise noth¬ 
ing will be done. I would sooner lose him. ” 

And she went off. Madame Josserand was most charming again. 
In the ante-room, she said all sorts of consoling things, she prom¬ 
ised to send her son submissive and tender, that very evening, affirm¬ 
ing that he would be delighted to live at his aunt-in-law’s. Then, 
when she had shut the door behind Madame Dambreville’s back, 
filled with a pitying tenderness, she thought: 

“ Poor boy! what a price she will make him pay for it! ” 

But, at this moment, she also heard the dull thud, which caused 
the boards to tremble. Well ? what was it ? was the servant smash¬ 
ing all the crockery, now ? She hastened to the dining-room, and 
questioned her daughters. 

“ What is it ? Is the sugar-basin broken ? ” 

“No, mamma. We don’t know.” 


232 


POT-BOUILLE 


She turned round, looking for AdMe, when she beheld her listen¬ 
ing at the door of the bed-room. 

“Whatever are you doing?” cried she. “ Everything is being 
smashed in your kitchen, and your’re there spying on your master. 
Yes, yes, one begins with prunes, and one ends with something else. 
For some time past, you have had a way about you which greatly 
displeases me; you smell of men, my girl-” 

The servant stood looking at her with wide-open eyes. At length 
she interrupted her. 

“ That’s not what’s the matter. I think master has fallen down 
in there. ” 

u Good heavens! she’s right,” said Berthe, turning pale, “ it was 
just like some one falling.” 

They entered the room. Monsieur Josserand, seized with a 
fainting fit, was lying on the floor before the bed; his head had come 
in contact with a chair, and a little stream of blood was issuing 
from the right ear. The mother, the two daughters and the servant 
surrounded and examined him. Berthe, alone, wept, again seized 
with the bitter sobs which the blow had called forth. And, when 
the four of them raised him to place him on the bed, they heard 
him murmur: 

“ It’s all over. They’ve killed me. ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Months passed by, and spring had come again. At the house in 
the Rue de Choiseul, every one was talking of the approaching 
marriage of Octave and Madame Hedouin. 

Matters, however, were not so far advanced. Octave was again 
in his old place at “ The Ladies’ Paradise,” the business of which 
developed daily. Since her husband’s death, Madame Hedouin was 
unable to attend properly to the incessantly growing concern by 
herself. Her uncle, old Deleuze, nailed to his easy-chair by rheuma¬ 
tism, troubled himself about nothing; and, naturally, the young 
man, who was very active and a constant prey to the mania for 
doing business on a large scale, had in a little while reached a posi¬ 
tion of decisive importance in the house. 

From this moment their relations became most intimate. They 
would shut themselves for hours together in the small room right at 
the back. In former days, when he had sworn to himself to seduce 
her, he had pursued certain tactics there, trying to take advantage 
of her commercial emotions, whispering figures close to her neck, 
watching for the days of heavy takings to profit by her enthusiasm. 
Now, he was simply good-natured, having no other aim but to push 
the business. Ho no longer even desired her, though he retained 
the recollection of her gentle quiver when waltzing with him on 



POT-BOUILLE 


233 


Berthe’s wedding night. Perhaps she had loved. In any case it 
was best to remain as they were; for, as she justly said, the busi¬ 
ness demanded a great amount of order, and it would be impolitic 
to wish for things which would disturb them from morning till 
night. 

Seated together at the narrow desk, they would often forget 
themselves, after going through the books and settling the orders. 
He would then return to his dreams of enlargement. He had 
sounded the owner of the next house, and had found him willing to 
sell. They would give notice to the second-hand dealer and to the 
umbrella man, and then establish a special department for silk. 
She, very grave, would listen, not daring to venture yet. 

At length, as they sat side by side one evening examining some 
invoices beneath the scorching flame of a gas-jet, she said slowly: 

“ I have spoken to my uncle, Monsieur Octave. He consents, so 
we will buy the house. Only-” 

He interrupted her joyfully to exclaim: 

“ Then, the Vabres are done for! ” 

She smiled, and murmured reproachfully: 

u Do you detest them, then? It is not proper on your part; you 
are the last who should wish them ill. ” 

She had never spoken to him of his relations with Berthe. This 
sudden allusion embarrassed him immensely, without his exactly 
knowing why. He blushed and tried to stammer out some explana¬ 
tion. 

“ No, no, it does not concern me,” resumed she, still smiling and 
very calm. 11 Excuse me, it quite escaped me; I never intended to 
speak to you on the subject. You are young. So much the worse 
for those who are willing, is it not so ? It is the place of the hus¬ 
bands to guard their wives when the latter are unable to guard 
themselves. ” 

He experienced a sensation of relief, on understanding she was 
not angry. He had often dreaded a coldness on her part if she came 
to know of his former connection. 

“ You interrupted me, Monsieur Octave,” resumed she, gravely. 
“ I was about to add that if I purchase the next house, and thus 
double the importance of my business, it will be impossible for me 
to remain single. I shall be obliged to marry again. ” 

Octave sat lost in astonishment. What! she already had a hus¬ 
band in view, and he was in ignorance of it! He at once felt that 
his position there was compromised. 

“ My uncle, ” continued she, “ told me so himself. Oh, there is 
no hurry just yet. I have only been eight months in mourning; I 
shall wait till the autumn. Only, in trade one must put one’s heart 
on one side, and consider the necessities of the situation. A man is 
absolutely necessary here. ” 

She discussed all this calmly, like a matter of business, and he 
gazed on her regular and healthy beauty, on her pure complexion 
beneath her neatly arranged black hair. Then he regretted not 


234 


POT-BOUILLE 


having, since her widowhood, renewed the effort to become her 
lover. 

“ It is always a very serious matter, ” stammered he; u it requires 
reflection.” 

No doubt, she was quite of that opinion. And she spoke of her 
age. 

“I am already old; I am five years older than you, Monsieur 
Octave— ” 

Deeply agitated, yet thinking he understood, he interrupted her, 
and seizing hold of her hands, he repeated: 

11 Oh, madame! oh, madame! ” 

But she rose from her seat and released herself. Then she turned 
down the gas. 

“ No, that’s enough for to-day. You have some very good ideas, 
and it is natural I should think of you to put them into execution. 
Only there will be a deal of worry; we must thoroughly study the 
project. I know that at heart you are very serious. Think the 
matter over on your side, and I will think it over on mine. That is 
why I have named it to you. We can talk about it again later on. ” 

And things remained thus for weeks. The establishment con¬ 
tinued just the same as usual. As Madame Hedouin always main¬ 
tained her smiling serenity when in Octave’s company, without an 
allusion to the slightest tender feeling, he affected on his side, a 
similar peace of mind, and he ended by becoming like her, health¬ 
fully happy, placing his confidence in the logic of things. She often 
repeated that sensible things always happened of themselves. 
Therefore she was never in a hurry. The gossip which commenced 
to circulate respecting her intimacy with the young man did not in 
the least affect her. They waited. 

In the Rue de Choiseul, therefore, the entire house vowed that 
the marriage was as good as accomplished. Octave had given up his 
room to lodge in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin, near “ The Ladies’ 
Paradise.” He no longer visited any one — neither the Campar- 
dons nor the Duveyriers, who were quite shocked at the scandal of 
his amours. Monsieur Gourd himself, whenever he saw him, pre¬ 
tended not to recognize him, so as to avoid having to bow. Only 
Marie and Madame Juzuer, on the mornings when they met him in 
the neighborhood, went and stood a moment in some doorway to 
have a chat with him. Madame Juzeur, who passionately ques¬ 
tioned him respecting Madame Hedouin, tried to persuade him to 
call upon her, so as to be able to talk the matter over nicely; and 
Marie, who was greatly distressed, complaining of again being in 
the family way, and who told him of Jules’ amazement and of her 
parents’ terrible anger. Then, when the rumor of his marriage 
became more persistent, Octave was surprised to receive a low bow 
from Monsieur Gourd. Campardon, without exactly making friends 
again, gave him a cordial nod across the street, whilst Duveyrier, 
calling one evening to buy some gloves, showed himself most amia¬ 
ble. The entire house was beginning to pardon him. 


POT-BOUILLE 


235 


However, the uneasiness caused by the adulterous act was still there, 
imperceptible to uneducated people, but most disagreeable to those of 
refined morals. Auguste obstinately persisted in not taking his 
wife back, and, so long as Berthe lived with her parents, the scandal 
would not be effaced — there would ever linger a material vestige 
of it. 

It was Duveyrier especially who, as landlord, carried the burden 
of this persistent and unmerited misfortune. For some time past 
Clarisse had been torturing him to such a pitch that he would at 
times come home to his wife to weep. But the scandal of the adul¬ 
tery had struck him to the heart; he saw, said he, the passer-by 
look at his house from top to bottom — that house which his father- 
in-law and he had striven to decorate with every domestic virtue j 
and, as this sort of thing could not be allowed to last, he talked of 
purifying the building for his personal honor. Therefore he urged 
Auguste, in the name of public decency, to become reconciled with 
his wife. Unfortunately, Auguste resisted, backed up in his rage by 
Theophile and Valerie, who had definitely installed themselves at 
the pay-desk, and who were delighted with the existing discord. 
Then, as matters were going badly at Lyons, and the silk ware¬ 
house was in jeopardy for want of capital, Duveyrier conceived a 
practical idea. The Josserands were probably longing to get rid of 
their daughter; the thing to do was to offer to take her back, but 
only on condition that they paid the dowry of fifty thousand francs. 
Perhaps uncle Bachelard would yield to their entreaties and give the 
money. At first, Auguste violently refused to be a party to»any 
such arrangement; even were the sum a hundred thousand francs, 
he would not think it sufficient. Then, becoming very anxious as 
his April payments drew near, he had given in to the counselor's 
arguments, as the latter pleaded the cause of morality and spoke 
merely of a good action to be done. 

When they were agreed, Clotilde selected the Abbd Mauduit for 
negotiator. It was a delicate matter; only a priest could interfere 
in it without compromising himself. It so happened that the rev¬ 
erend man was deeply grieved by the deplorable catastrophes which 
had befallen one of the most interesting households of his parish; 
and he had already offered his advice, his experience and his 
authority to put an end to a scandal at which the enemies of religion 
might take delight. However, when Clotilde spoke to him of the 
dowry, asking him to be the bearer of Auguste's conditions to the 
Josserands, he bowed his head, and maintained a painful silence. 

“ it is money due that my brother asks for, ” repeated she. “ It is 
no bargain, understand. Moreover, my brother insists upon it. ” 

“ It is necessary, and I will go," said the priest, at length. 

The Josserands had been expecting the proposal for days. 
Valerie must have spoken of it, all the tenants were discussing the 
affair: were they so hard up as to be forced to keep their daughter I 
would they be able to obtain the fifty thousand francs to get rid of 
her °i Since the question had reached this point, Madame Josserand 


236 


POT-BOUILLE 


had been in a constant rage. What! after having had such trouble 
to marry Berthe at first, she now had to marry her a second time ! 
Everything was upset, the dowry was again demanded, all the 
money worries were going to commence afresh ! Never before had 
a mother had such a task to go through twice over. And all owing 
to the fault of that silly fool, whose stupidity went so far as to make 
her forget her duty. 

The house was becoming a hell upon earth; Berthe suffered a 
continual torture, for even her sister Hortense, furious at no longer 
sleeping alone, never uttered a sentence without introducing some 
insulting allusion into it. She was even reproached with the food she 
ate. When one had a husband somewhere, it was all the same very 
funny that one should go and share one’s parents’ meals, which 
were already too sparing. Then the young woman, in despair, 
would sob in corners, accusing herself of being a coward, but unable 
to pick up sufficient courage to go down-stairs and throw herself at 
Auguste’s feet, and say: 

“ Here! beat me, I cannot be more unhappy than I am.” 

Monsieur Josserand alone showed some affection for his child. 
But that child’s faults and tears were killing him; he was dying 
through the cruelties of the family, with an unlimited holiday from 
business, spent mostly in bed. Doctor Juillerat, who attended him, 
talked of a decomposition of the blood: it was a dissolution of the 
entire system, during which each organ was attacked, one after the 
other. 

“ When you have made your father die of grief, perhaps you will 
be satisfied! ” cried the mother. 

And Berthe scarcely dared enter the invalid’s room. Directly the 
father and daughter met, they wept together, and did each other a 
great deal of harm. 

At length, Madame Josserand came to a grand decision : she 
invited uncle Bachelard, resolved to humiliate herself once more. 
She would have given the fifty thousand francs out of her own 
pocket, if she had possessed them, so as not to have to keep that 
big married girl, whose presence dishonored her Tuesday receptions. 
But she had learnt some shocking things about the uncle, and, if he 
did not do as she wished, she intended, once for all, to give him a 
bit of her mind. 

During dinner, Bachelard behaved in a most abominable manner. 
He had arrived in an advanced state of intoxication j for, since he 
had left Fifi, he had fallen into the lowest depths of vice. 

“ Narcisse,” said Madame Josserand, “the situation is a grave 
one-” 

And, slowly and solemnly, she explained this situation, her 
daughter’s regrettable misfortuneythe husband’s revolting venality, 
the painful resolution she had been obliged to come to of giving the 
fifty thousand francs, so as to put a stop to the scandal which cov¬ 
ered the family with shame. Then she severely continued: 

“ Bemember what you promised, Narcisse. On the evening of the 


POT-BOUILLE 


237 


signing of the marriage contract, you again slapped your chest and 
swore that Berthe might rely on her uncle’s affections. Well! where 
is this affection ? the moment has arrived to display it. Monsieur 
Josserand, join me in showing him his duty, if your weak state of 
health will allow you to do so. ” 

In spite of his great repugnance, the father murmured, out of love 
for his daughter: 

“ It is true; you promised, Bachelard. Come, before I leave you 
forever, do me the pleasure of behaving as you should. ” 

But Berthe and Hortense, in the hope of working upon the uncle’s 
feelings, had filled his glass once too often. He was in such a fud¬ 
dled condition, that one could not even take advantage of him. 

“ Eh ? what ?” stuttered he, without having the least necessity 
for exaggerating his intoxication. “ Never promise — Don’t under¬ 
stand—Tell me again, Eleonore.” 

The latter recommenced her story, made weeping Berthe embrace 
him, besought him for the sake of her husband’s health, and proved 
to him that in giving the fifty thousand francs, he would be fulfilling 
a sacred duty. Then, as he began to doze off again, without 
appearing to be in the least affected by the sight of the invalid or 
of the chamber of sickness, she abruptly broke out into the most 
violent language. 

“ Listen! Narcisse, this sort of thing has been lasting too long — 
you’re a scoundrel! I know of all your beastly goings-on. You’ve 
just married your mistress to Gueulin, and you’ve given them fifty 
thousand francs, the very amount you promised us. Ah! it’s 
decent; little Gueulin plays a pretty part in it all! And you, 
you’re worse still, you take the bread from our mouth, you prosti¬ 
tute your fortune, yes! you prostitute it, by robbing us of money 
which was ours for the sake of that harlot! ” 

Never before had she relieved her feelings to such an extent. 
Hortense busied herself with her father’s medicine, so as not to show 
her embarrassment. Monsieur Josserand, who was made far worse 
by this scene, tossed about on his pillow, and murmured in a trem¬ 
bling voice: . 

“ I beseech you, E16onore, do be quiet; he will give nothing. If 
you wish to say such things to him, take him away that I may not 
hear you.” 

Berthe, on her side, sobbed louder than ever, and joined her father 
in his entreaties. 

“ Enough, mamma, do as papa asks. Good heavens! how miser¬ 
able I am to be the cause of all these quarrels! I would sooner 
leave you all, and go and die somewhere. ” 

Then Madame Josserand deliberately put the question to the uncle. 

“ Will you, yes or no, give the fifty thousand francs, so that your 
niece may hold her head up ? ” 

Regularly scared, he tried to go into explanations. 

“ Listen a moment. I found Gueulin and Fifi together. What 
could I do? I was obliged to marry them. It wasn’t my fault.” 


238 


POT-BOUILLE 


“ Will you, yes or no, give the dowry you promised ? ” repeated 
she furiously. 

He wavered, his intoxication increased to such a pitch that he 
could scarcely find words to utter: 

“Can’t, word of honor! — Completely ruined. Otherwise, at 
once — Candidly you know-” 

She interrupted him with a terrible gesture, and declared: 

“ Good, then I shall call a family council and have you declared 
incapable of managing your affairs. When uncles become driveling, 
it’s time to send them to an asylum. ” 

At this, the uncle was seized with intense emotion. He glanced 
about him, and found the room had a sinister aspect with its feeble 
light; he looked at the dying man, who, held up by his daughters, 
was swallowing a spoonful of some black liquid; and his heart over~ 
flowed, he sobbed as he accused his sister of never having under 
stood him. Yet, he had already been made unhappy enough by 
Gueulin’s treachery. They knew he was very sensitive, and they 
did wrong to invite him to dinner, to make him sad afterward. In 
short, in place of the fifty thousand francs, he offered all the blood 
in his veins. 

Madame Josserand, who was quite worn out, had decided to leave 
him to himself, when the servant announced Doctor Juillerat and 
the Abb6 Mauduit. They had met on the landing, and entered 
together. The doctor found Monsieur Josserand much worse, he 
was still suffering from the shock occasioned by the scene in which 
he had been forced to play a part. When, on his side, the priest 
wished to take Madame Josserand into the drawing-room, having, 
he, said, a communication to make to her, the latter guessed on 
what subject he had called, and answered majestically that she was 
with her family and prepared to hear everything there; the doctor 
himself would not be in the way, for a physician was also a con¬ 
fessor. 

“ Madame, ” then said the priest, with slightly embarrassed gen¬ 
tleness, “ you behold in the step I am taking an ardent desire to 
reconcile two families-” 

“My dear Abbe Mauduit, allow me to interrupt you,” said 
Madame Josserand. “We are deeply moved by your efforts. 
But never, you understand me! never will we traffic in our daughter’s 
honor. People who have already become reconciled over this child’s 
back! Oh ! I know all; they were at daggers drawn, and now they 
are inseparable, reviling us from morning till night. No; such a 
bargain would be a disgrace-” 

“ It seems to me, though, madame — ” ventured the priest. 

But she drowned his voice, as she superbly continued: 

“ See! my brother is here. You can question him. He was again 
saying to me only a little while ago: 1 Here are the fifty thousand 
francs, Eleonore; settle this miserable matter ! 1 Well! ask him 
what reply I made. Get up, Narcisse. Tell the truth.” 

The uncle had already again fallen asleep in an arm-chair, at the 


POT-BOUILLE 


239 


end of the room. He moved, and uttered a few disconnected words. 
Then, as his sister insisted, he placed his hand on his heart, and 
stammered: 

“ When duty speaks, one must obey. The family comes before 
everything. ” 

“ You hear him? ” cried Madame Josserand, with a triumphant 
air. “No money ; it’s disgraceful! Tell those people from us that 
we don’t die to avoid having to pay. The dowry is here; we would 
have given it; hut, now that it’s exacted as the price of our daughter, 
the matter becomes too disgusting. Let Auguste take Berthe back 
first, and then we will see later on. ” 

She had raised her voice, and the doctor, who was examining his 
patient, was obliged to make her leave off. 

“ Speak lower, madame! ” said he; “ your husband suffers.” 

Then the Abbe Mauduit, whose embarrassment had increased, 
went up to the bedside, and found some kind words to say. And he 
afterward withdrew, without again referring to the matter, hiding 
the confusion of having failed beneath his amiable smile, with a curl 
of grief and disgust on his lips. As the doctor went off in his turn, 
he roughly informed Madame Josserand that there was no hope for 
the invalid: the greatest precautions must be taken, for the least 
emotion might carry him off. She was thunderstruck, and returned 
to the dining-room, where her two daughters and their uncle had 
already withdrawn, to let Monsieur Josserand rest, as he seemed 
disposed to go to sleep. 

“Berthe,” murmured she, “you have killed your father. The 
doctor has just said so.” 

And they all three, seated round the table, gave way to their grief, 
whilst Uncle Bachelard, also in tears, mixed himself a glass of 
grog. 

When Auguste learned the Josserands’ answer, his rage against 
his wife knew no bounds, and he swore he would kick her away the 
day she came to ask for forgiveness. Yet, in reality, he wanted her; 
there was a voidness in his life; he seemed to be out of his element, 
amidst the new worries of his abandonment, quite as grave as those 
of his married life. 

Besides all this, another more serious anxiety bothered him: “ The 
Ladies’ Paradise ” was prospering, and already menaced his busi¬ 
ness, which decreased daily. He certainly did not regret that mis¬ 
erable Octave, yet he was just, and recognized that the fellow 
possessed very great abilities. How swimmingly everything would 
have gone had they only got on better together! He was seized 
with the most tender regrets; there were hours when, sick of his 
loneliness, feeling life giving way beneath him, he felt inclined to 
go up to the Josserands and ask" them to give Berthe back to him 
for nothing. 

Duveyrier, too, moreover, did not yield, and, more and more cut 
up by the moral disfavor into which such an affair threw his building, 
he was forever urging his brother-in-law to a reconciliation. 


240 


POT-BOUILLE 


Each day life became more and more cruel for Duveyrier at this 
mistress’, where he encountered all the worries of his own home 
again, but this time in the midst of a regular hell. The whole tribe 
of hawkers — the mother, the big blackguard of a brother, the two 
little sisters, even the invalid aunt—impudently robbed him, lived 
on him openly, to the point of emptying his pockets during the 
nights he slept there. His position was also becoming a serious one 
in another respect; he had got to the end of his money; he trem¬ 
bled at the thought of being compromised on his judicial bench; he 
could certainly not be removed, only, the young barristers were 
beginning to look at him in a saucy kind of way, which made it 
awkward for him to administer justice. And, when driven away by 
the filth and the uproar, seized with disgust of himself, he flew from 
the Rue d’Assas and sought refuge in the Rue de Choiseul, his wife’s 
malignant coldness completed the crushing of him. Then he would 
lose his head; he would look at the Seine on his way to the court, 
with thoughts of jumping in some evening when a final suffering 
should impart to him the requisite courage. 

Clotilde had noticed her husband’s emotion, and felt anxious and 
irritated with that mistress of his who did not even make a man 
happy in his misconduct. But, for her part, she was greatly annoyed 
by a most deplorable adventure, the consequences of which quite 
revolutionized the house. On going up-stairs one morning for a 
handkerchief, Clemence had caught Hippolyte with Louise, and, 
since then, she had taken to slapping him in the kitchen for the 
least thing, which of course greatly interfered with the attendance. 
The worst was that madame could no longer close her eyes to the 
illicit connection existing between her maid and her footman; the 
other servants laughed, the scandal was reported amongst the 
tradespeople; it was absolutely necessary to oblige them to get 
married if she wished to retain them, and, as she continued to be 
very well satisfied with Clemence, she thought of nothing but this 
marriage. 

To negotiate between lovers who were forever fighting with each 
other seemed such a delicate affair that she decided on employing 
the Abbe Mauduit, whose moralizing c laracter seemed specially 
suited to the occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing 
her a great deal of trouble for some time past. When down in the 
country, she had noticed the intimacy of her big, hobbledehoy Gus¬ 
tave with Julie; she had at one moment thought of sending the 
latter about her business, though regretfully, for she liked her cook¬ 
ing; then, after sound reflection, she had decided to keep her, pre¬ 
ferring that the youngster should have a mistress at home, a clean 
girl who would never be any trouble. There is no knowing what a 
youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too young. She was 
watching them, therefore, without saying a word, and now the other 
two must needs worry her with their affair. 

It so happened that, one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was pre¬ 
paring to call on the priest, Clemence came, and announced tha.t the 


POT-BOUILLE 


241 


Abbd Maudnit was taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur 
Josserand. After meeting him on the staircase, the maid had 
returned to the kitchen, exclaiming: 

“ I said that he would come again this year! ” 

And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, 
she added: 

“ It has brought ill-luck to every one.” 

This time the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excel¬ 
lent sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint- 
Iioch, where she awaited the Abb6 Mauduit’s return. He listened to 
her, and for a while maintained a sad silence; then he was unable 
to refuse to enlighten the maid and the footman on the immorality 
of their position. Moreover, the other matter would have obliged 
him to return shortly to the Rue de Choiseul, for poor Monsieur 
Josserand would certainly not last through the night; and he men¬ 
tioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel but happy oppor¬ 
tunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try and 
arrange the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that 
Heaven consented to bless their efforts. 

“ I have prayed, madame,” said the priest. “ The Almighty will 
triumph. ” 

And, indeed, that evening, at seven o’clock, Monsieur Josserand’s 
death agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle 
Bachelard, who had been sought for in vain in all the cafes, and 
Saturnin, who was still confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Leon, 
whose marriage was most unfortunately postponed through his 
father’s illness, displayed a dignified grief. Madame Josserand and 
Hortense showed some courage. Berthe alone sobbed so loudly 
that, so as not to affect the invalid, she had gone and stowed herself 
away in the kitchen, where Adele, taking advantage of the general 
confusion, was drinking some mulled wine. Monsieur Josserand 
expired in the quietest fashion; it was his honesty which finished 
him. He had passed a useless life, and he went off like a worthy 
man tired of the wicked things of the world, heart-broken by the 
quiet indifference of the only beings he had ever loved. At eight 
o’clock he stammered out Saturnin’s name, turned his face to the 
wall, and expired. No one thought him dead, for all had dreaded a 
terrible agony. They sat patiently for some time, letting him, as 
they thought, sleep. When they found he was already becoming 
cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general wailing, flew 
into a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to fetch 
Auguste, counting on restoring Berthe to the latter’s arms amidst 
the great grief of her husband’s last moments. 

“ You think of nothing ! ” said she, wiping her eyes. 

“ But,mamma,” replied the girl, in tears, “ no one thought papa 
would go off so suddenly ! You told me not to go for Auguste till. 
nine o’clock, so as to be sure of keeping him till the end. ” 

The sorely afflicted family found some distraction in this quarrel. 

Pot-Bouille 16 


242 


POT-BOUILLE 


It was another matter gone wrong; they never succeeded in any¬ 
thing. Fortunately, there was still the funeral to take advantage 
of to bring the husband and wife together. 

The funeral was a pretty decent one, though it was not so grand 
as Monsieur Vabre’s. Moreover, it did not give rise to nearly the 
same excitement in the house and the neighborhood, for the deceased 
was not a landlord; he was merely a quiet-going body, whose 
demise did not even disturb Madame Juzeur’s slumbers. 

Madame Josserand and her daughters had to be supported to 
their coach. Leon, assisted by uncle Bachelard, was most attentive, 
whilst Auguste followed behind in an embarrassed way. He got 
into another coach with Duveyrier and Theophile. Clotilde detained 
the Abbe Mauduit, who had not officiated, but who had gone to the 
cemetery, wishing to give the family a proof of his sympathy. The 
horses started on the homeward journey moregayly, and she at once 
asked the priest to return to the house with them, for she felt that 
the time was favorable. He consented. 

The three mourning coaches silently drew up in the Eue de 
Choiseul with the relations. Theophile at once rejoined Valerie, 
who had remained behind to superintend a general cleaning, the 
warehouse being closed. 

“ You may pack up! ” cried he, furiously. “ They’re all at 
him. I bet he’ll end by begging her pardon. ” 

They all, indeed, felt a pressing necessity for putting an end to 
the unpleasantness. Misfortune should at least be good for some¬ 
thing. Auguste, in the midst of them, understood very well what 
they wanted; and he was alone, without strength to resist, and 
filled with shame. The relations slowly walked in under the porch 
hung with black. No one spoke. On the stairs, the silence con¬ 
tinued — a silence full of deep thought — whilst the crape skirts, soft 
and sad, ascended higher and higher. Auguste, seized with a final 
feeling of revolt, had taken the lead, with the intention of quickly 
shutting himself up in his own apartments; but, as he opened the 
door, Clotilde and the priest, who had followed close behind, stopped 
him. Directly after them, Berthe, dressed in deep mourning, 
appeared on the landing, accompanied by her mother and her sister. 
They all three had red eyes; Madame Josserand, especially, was 
quite painful to behold. 

“ Come, my friend,” simply said the priest, overcome by tears. 

And that was sufficient. Auguste gave in at once, seeing that it 
was better to make his peace at that honorable opportunity. His 
wife wept, and he wept also, as he stammered: 

“ Come in. We will try not to do it again.” 

Then the relations kissed all around. Clotilde congratulated her 
brother; she had had full confidence in his heart. Madame 
Josserand showed a broken-hearted satisfaction, like a widow who 
is no longer the least affected by the most unhoped-for happiness. 
She associated her poor husband with the general joy. 


POT-BOUILLE 


243 


u You are doing your duty, my dear son-in-law. He who is now 
in Heaven thanks you. ” 

“ Come in,” repeated Auguste, quite upset. 

But Rachel, attracted by the noise, now appeared in the ante¬ 
room ; and Berthe hesitated a moment in presence of the speechless 
exasperation which caused the maid to turn ghastly pale. Then 
she sternly entered, and disappeared with her black mourning in 
the shadow of the apartment. Auguste followed her, and the door 
closed behind them. 

A deep sigh of relief ascended the staircase, and filled the house 
with joy. The ladies pressed the hands of the priest, whose prayers 
had been granted. Just as Clotilde was taking him off to settle the 
other matter, Duveyrier, who had lagged behind with Leon and 
Bachelard, arrived, walking painfully. The happy result had all to 
be explained to him; but he, who had been desiring it for months 
past, scarcely seemed to understand, a strange expression over¬ 
spreading his face, and his mind a prey to a fixed idea, the torture 
of which quite absorbed him. Whilst the Josserands regained their 
apartments, he returned to his own, behind his wife and the priest. 
And they had just reached the ante-room, when some stifled cries 
caused them to start. 

“ Do not be uneasy, madame. It is the little lady up-stairs in 
labor,” Hippolyte complacently explained. “I saw Dr. Juillerat 
run up just now. ” 

Then, when he was alone, he added philosophically: 

“ One goes, another comes.” 

Clotilde made the Abb6 Mauduit comfortable in the drawing¬ 
room, saying that she would first of all send him Clemence; and, to 
help him to while away the time, she gave him the “ Revue des 
Deux Mondes, ” which contained some really charming verses. She 
wished to prepare her maid for the interview. But, on entering her 
dressing-room, she found her husband seated on a chair. 

Ever since the morning, Duveyrier had been in a state of agony. 
For the third time he had caught Clarisse with Theodore; and, as ho 
complained, the whole family of hawkers, the mother, the brother, 
the sisters, had fallen upon him, and driven him down-stairs with 
kicks and blows; whilst Clarisse had called him a poverty-stricken 
wretch, and furiously threatened him with the police if he ever dared 
to show himself there again. It was all over; down below the 
doorkeeper had told him that for a week past a very rich old fellow 
had been anxious to provide for madame. Then, driven away, and 
no longer having a warm nook to nestle in, Duveyrier, after wander¬ 
ing about the streets, had entered an out-of-the-way shop and pur¬ 
chased a pocket revolver. Life was becoming too sad; he could at 
least put an end to it, as soon as he had found a suitable place for 
doing so. This selection of a quiet corner was occupying his mind, 
as he mechanically returned to the Rue de Choiseul to assist at 
Monsieur Josserand’s funeral. Then, when following the corpse, he 
had had a sudden idea of killing himself at the cemetery; he would 


244 


POT-BOUILLE 


go to the furthest end and hide behind a tombstone. This flattered 
his taste for the romantic, the necessity for a tender ideal, which 
was wrecking his life, beneath his rigid middle-class attitude. But, 
as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, he began to tremble, 
seized with an earthly chill. The spot would decidedly not do; he 
would have to seek elsewhere. And, having returned in a worse 
state than ever, entirely a prey to this one idea, he sat thinking on 
a chair in the dressing-room, trying to decide which was the most 
suitable place in the house — perhaps the bed-room, beside the bed, 
or simply just where he was, without moving. 

“ Will you have the kindness to leave me to myself ?” said Clotilde 
to him. 

He already had his hand on the revolver in his pocket. 

11 Why I ” asked he, with an effort. 

“ Because I wish to be alone.” 

He thought that she wanted to change her dress, and that she 
would not even let him see her bare arms, so repugnant he felt was 
he to her. For an instant he looked at her with his dim eyes, and 
beheld her so tall, so beautiful, with a complexion clear as marble, 
her hair gathered up in deep, golden tresses. Ah! if she had only 
consented, how everything might have been arranged! He rose 
stumblingly from his chair, and, opening his arms, tried to take hold 
of her. 

“ What, now ? ” murmured she, greatly surprised. “ What’s the 
matter with you? Not here, surely. Have you the other one no 
longer, then ? It is going to begin again, that abomination? ” 

And she exhibited such utter disgust, that he drew back. With¬ 
out a word, he left her, stopping in the ante-room as he hesitated for 
a moment; then, as there was a door facing him, the door of the 
closet, he pushed it open; and, without the slightest hurry, he sat 
down. It was a quiet spot, no one would come and disturb him 
there. Ho placed the barrel of the little revolver in his mouth, and 
pulled tho trigger. 

Meanwhile, Clotilde, who had been struck since the morning by 
his strange manner, had listened to ascertain if he were obliging her 
by returning to Clarisse. On learning where he had gone, by a 
creak peculiar to that door, she no longer bothered herself about 
him, and was at length in the act of ringing for Clemence, when the 
dull report of a fire-arm filled her with surprise. Whatever was 
it? it was just like the noise a saloon rifle would make. She 
hastened to the ante-room, not daring at first to question him; then, 
as a strange sound issued from where he was, she called him, and, 
on receiving no answer, opened the door. The bolt had not even 
been fastened. Duveyrier, stunned by fright more than by the 
injury he had received, remained squatting, in a most lugubrious 
posture, his eyes'wide open, and his face streaming with blood. He 
had missed his object. After grazing his jaw, the bullet had passed 
out again through the left cheek. And he no longer had the courage 
to fire a second time. 


POT-BOUILLE 


245 


u What! that is what you come to do here ? ” cried Clotilde quite 
beside herself. “ Just go and kill yourself outside! ” 

She was most indignant. Instead of softening her, this spectacle 
threw her into a supreme exasperation. She bullied him, and raised 
him up without the least precaution, wishing to carry him away so 
that no one should see him in such a place. In that closet! and to 
miss killing himself too! It was too much. 

Then, whilst she supported him to lead him to the bed-room, 
Duveyrier, who had his throat filled with blood, and whose teeth 
were dropping out, stuttered between two rattles: 

“ You never loved me! ” 

And he burst into sobs, he bewailed the death of poetry, that 
little blue flower which it had been denied him to pluck. When 
Clotilde had put him to bed, she at length became softened, seized 
with a nervous emotion in the midst of her anger. The worst of it 
was that Clemence and Hippolyte were coming in answer to the 
bell. She at first talked to them of an accident; their master had 
fallen on his chin: then she was obliged to abandon this fable, for, 
on going to wipe up the blood, the footman had found the revolver. 
The wounded man was still losing a great deal of blood, when the 
maid remembered that Dr. Juillerat was up-stairs attending to 
Madame Pichon, and she hastened to him, meeting him on the 
staircase, on his way home, after a most successful delivery. The 
doctor immediately reassured Clotilde; perhaps the jaw would be 
slightly out of its place, but her husband’s life was not in the least 
danger. He was proceeding to dress the wound, in the midst of 
basins of water and red stained rags, when the Abbe Mauduit, 
uneasy at all this commotion, ventured to enter the room. 

u Whatever has happened? ” asked he. 

This question completed upsetting Madame Duveyrier. She 
burst into tears at the first words of explanation. The priest, fully 
aware of the hidden miseries of his flock, had moreover quite under¬ 
stood matters. Already, whilst waiting in the drawing-room, he 
had been taken with a feeling of uneasiness, and almost regretted 
the success which had attended his efforts, that wretched young 
woman whom he had once more united to her husband without her 
showing the slightest remorse. He was filled with a terrible doubt, 
perhaps God was not with him. And his anguish still further 
increased as he beheld the counselor’s fractured jaw. He went up 
to him, bent upon energetically condemning suicide. But the 
doctor, who was very busy, thrust him aside. 

“ After me, my dear Abbe Mauduit. By-and-by. You can see 
very well that he has fainted.” 

And indeed, directly the doctor touched him, Duveyrier had lost 
consciousness. Then Clotilde, to get rid of the servants who were 
no longer needed, and whose staring eyes embarrassed her very 
much, murmured, as she wiped her eyes : 

“ Go into the drawing-room. Abbe Mauduit has something to 
say to you. ” 


246 


POT-BOUILLE 


The priest was obliged to take them there. It was another 
unpleasant piece of business. Hippolyte and Clemence followed 
him in profound surprise. When they were alone together, he began 
preaching them a rather confused sermon: Heaven rewarded good 
behavior, whereas a single sin led one to hell; moreover, it was 
time to put a stop to scandal and to think of one’s salvation. 
Whilst he spoke thus, their surprise turned to bewilderment; with 
their hands hanging down beside them, she with her slender limbs 
and tiny mouth, he with his flat face and his big bones like a gen¬ 
darme, they exchanged anxious glances ! Had madame found some 
of her napkins up-stairs in a trunk ? or was it because of the bottle 
of wine they took up with them every evening ? 

“My children,” the priest ended by saying, “you set a bad 
example. The greatest of crimes is to pervert one’s neighbor, and 
to bring the house where one lives into disrepute. Yes, you live in 
a disorderly way, which, unfortunately, is no longer a secret to any 
one, for you have been fighting together for a week past. ” 

He blushed; a modest hesitation caused him to choose his words. 

Meanwhile the two servants had sighed with relief. They smiled 
now and strutted about in quite a happy manner. It was only that! 
really, there was no occasion to be so frightened! 

“ But it’s all over, sir, ” declared Clemence, glancing at Hippolyte 
in the fondest manner. “ We have made it up. Yes, he explained 
everything to me.” 

The priest in his turn exhibited an astonishment full of sadness. 

“ You do not understand me, my children. You cannot continue 
to live together; you sin against God and man. You must get mar¬ 
ried. ” 

At this, their amazement returned. Get married! whatever for ? 

“ I don’t want to, ” said Clemence. “ I’ve quite another idea. ” 

Then the Abbe Mauduit tried to convince Hippolyte. 

“ Come, my fine fellow, you who are a man, use your influence with 
her, talk to her of her honor. It will change nothing in your mode 
of living. Be married.” 

The footman grinned in a jocular and embarrassed manner. At 
length he declared, as he looked down at the toes of his boots: 

“ I daresay, I don’t say the contrary; but I’m already married.” 

This answer put a stop to all the priest’s moral preaching. With¬ 
out adding a word, he folded up his arguments, and put religion, 
now become useless, back into his pocket, deeply regretting ever 
having risked it in such a disgraceful matter. Clotilde, who rejoined 
him at this moment, had heard everything; and she gave vent to 
her indignation in a furious gesture. At her order, the footman and 
the maid left the room, one behind the other, looking very serious, 
but in reality feeling highly amused. After a short pause, Abbe 
Mauduit complained bitterly: why expose him in that manner ? why 
stir up things it was far better to let rest? The condition of affairs 
had now become most disgraceful. But Clotilde repeated her ges¬ 
ture : so much the worse ! she had far greater worries. Moreover, 


POT-BOUILLE 


247 


she would certainly not send the servants away, for fear the whole 
neighborhood learnt the story of the attempted suicide that very 
evening. She would decide what to do later on. 

“You will not forget, will you? the most complete repose,” 
urged the doctor, coming from the bed-room. “ He will get over it 
perfectly, but all fatigue must be avoided. Take courage, 
madame.” 

And, turning toward the priest, he added: 

“ You can preach him a sermon later on, my dear friend. I do 
not give him up to you yet. If you are returning to Saint-Roch, I 
will accompany you; we can walk together. ” 

Then they left the house, and slowly followed the Rue Neuve- 
Saint-Augustin. As they raised their heads, on arriving at the end 
of the street, they beheld Madame Hedouin smiling at them, at the 
door of “ The Ladies 7 Paradise . 77 Standing behind her was Octave, 
also laughing. That very morning they had settled on their mar¬ 
riage, after a serious conversation. They would wait till the 
autumn. And they were both full of joy at having at length 
arranged the matter. 

“ Good day, my dear Abbe Mauduit! 77 said Madame Hedouin, 
gayly. “ And you, doctor, always paying visits ? 77 

And, as the latter congratulated her on her good looks, she 
added: 

“ Oh! if there were only me, you might give up business at once . 77 

They stood conversing a moment. The doctor having mentioned 
Marie’s confinement, Octave seemed delighted to hear of his former 
neighbor’s happy delivery. But, when he learnt that it was a third 
daughter, he exclaimed: 

“ Can’t her husband manage a boy, then ? She thought she 
might still get Monsieur and Madame Yuillaume to put up with a 
boy; but they’ll never stomach another girl . 77 

“ I should think not,” said the doctor. “ They have both taken 
to their bed, the news of their daughter’s pregnancy upset them so 
much. And they sent for a notary, so that their son-in-law should 
not even inherit their furniture . 77 

There was a little chaff. The priest alone remained silent, with 
his eyes cast on the ground. Madame Hedouin asked him if he 
was unwell. Yes, he felt very tired, he was going to take a little 
rest. And, after a cordial exchange of good wishes, he went down 
the Rue Saint-Roch, still accompanied by the doctor. On arriving 
before the church, the latter abruptly said: 

“ A bad customer, eh ? 77 

“ Who is? 77 asked the priest in surprise. 

“ That lady who sells linen. She does not care a pin for either of 
us. No need for religion, nor for medicine. All the same, when 
one is always so well, it is no longer interesting . 77 

An d he went on his way, whilst the priest entered the church. 

Abbe Mauduit intended to go up to his room. But a great agi¬ 
tation, a violent necessity, had forced him to enter the church and 


248 


POT-BOUILLE 


kept him there. It seemed to him that God was calling him, with 
a confused and far-off voice, the orders proceeding from which he 
was unable to catch. He slowly crossed the church, and was try¬ 
ing to read within himself, to quiet his alarms, when, suddenly, as 
he passed behind the choir, a superhuman spectacle shook his entire 
frame. 

It was beyond the marble chapel of the Virgin, as white as a lily, 
beyond the gold and silver plate of the chapel of the Adoration, 
with its seven golden lamps, its golden candelabra, and its golden 
altar shining in the tawny shadow of the aureate stained windows; 
it was in the depths of this mysterious night, past this tabernacle 
background, a tragical apparition, a simple yet harrowing drama: 
Christ nailed to the cross, between the Virgin Mary and Mary 
Magdalen, weeping at his feet; and the white statues, which an 
invisible light coming from above caused to stand out from against 
the bare wall, seemed to advance and increase in size, making 
the bleeding humanity of this death, and these tears, the divine 
symbol of eternal woe. 

The priest, thoroughly distracted, fell on his knees. He had 
whitened that plaster, arranged that mode of lighting, prepared 
that phenomenon; and, now that the hoarding was removed, the 
architect and the workmen gone, he was the first to be thunder¬ 
struck at the sight. From the terrible severity of the Calvary came 
a breath which overpowered him. He fancied the Almighty pass¬ 
ing over him; he bent beneath this breath, filled with misgivings, 
tortured by the thought that he was perhaps a bad priest. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In December, the eighth month of her morning, Madame Josse- 
rand for the first time accepted an invitation to dine out. It was 
merely at the Duveyriers', almost a family gathering, with' which 
Clotilde opened her Saturday receptions of the new" winter. The 
day before, Adele had been told that she would have to help Julie 
with the washing-up. The ladies were in the habit of thus lending 
their servants to each other on the days when they gave parties. 

“ And above all, try and put a little more go into yourself, " said 
Madame Josserand to her maid-of-all-work. 11 1 don't know what 
you've got in your body now, you're as limp as rags. Yet you're 
fat and plump." 

Adele was simply nine months gone in the family way. For a 
long time she had thought she was merely growing stouter, which 
greatly surprised her however; and she would get into a perfect 
rage, with her ever hungry empty stomach, on the days when 
madame triumphantly showed her to her guests; ah, well! those 


POT-BOUILLE 


249 


who accused her of weighing her servant’s bread might come and 
look at that great glutton, it was not likely she got so fat by merely 
licking the walls! When, in her stupidity, Adele at length became 
aware of her misfortune, she restrained herself twenty times from 
telling the truth to her mistress, who was really taking advantage 
of her condition to make the neighborhood think that she was at 
length feeding her. 

But, from this moment, terror stultified her entirely. Her village 
ideas once more took possession of her obtuse skull. She thought 
herself damned, she fancied that the gendarmes would come and 
take her, if she admitted her pregnancy. Then all her low cunning 
was made use of to hide it. She concealed the feelings of sickness, 
twice she thought she would drop down dead before her kitchen 
fire, whilst stirring some sauces. The pain that she had endured 
for the two last months with the obstinacy of an heroic silence was 
indeed frightful. 

Adele went up to bed that night about eleven o’clock. The 
thought of to-morrow evening terrified her ; more drudgery, more 
bullying by Julie! and she could scarcely move about. 

During the night she was seized with labor pains, and a desire 
came over her to move about, so as to walk them off. She there¬ 
fore lighted the candle and began to wander round the room, her 
tongue dried up, tormented with a burning thirst, and her cheeks 
on fire. Hours passed in this cruel wandering, without her daring 
to put on her shoes, for fear of making a noise, whilst she was only 
protected against the cold by an old shawl thrown across her 
shoulders. Two o’clock struck, then three o’clock. 

Not a soul stirred in the adjoining rooms, every one was snoring ; 
she could hear Julie’s sonorous hum, whilst Lisa made a kind of 
hissing noise like the shrill notes of a fife. - Four o’clock had just 
struck, when, seized with a violent pain, she felt that the end was 
approaching, and could not restrain uttering a loud cry. 

At this the occupants of the other rooms began to rouse up. 
Voices thick with sleep were heard saying: “ Well! what ? who’s 
being murdered ? — Some one’s being taken by force! — Don’t 
dream out loud like that! ” Dreadfully frightened, she drew the 
bedclothes over the new-born child, which was uttering plaintive 
cries like a little kitten. But she soon heard Julie snoring again, 
after turning over; whilst Lisa, once more asleep, no longer uttered 
a sound. Then she experienced an immense relief, an infinite com¬ 
fort of calm and repose, and lay as one dead. 

She must have dozed thus for the best part of an hour. When 
six o’clock struck, the consciousness of her position awoke her again. 
Time was flying, she rose up painfully, and did whatever things 
came into her head, without deciding on them beforehand. A frosty 
moon shone full into the room. After dressing herself, she wrapped 
the infant up in some old rags, and then folded a couple of news¬ 
papers around it. It uttered no cry now, yet its little heart was 
beating. 


250 


POT-BOUILLE 


Not one of the servants was about as yet, and, after getting slum¬ 
bering Monsieur Gourd to unfasten the door from his room, she was 
able to go out and lay her bundle in the Passage Choiseul, the gates 
of which had just been opened, and then quietly returned up-stairs. 
She met no one. For once in her lifetime, luck was on her side! 

She immediately set about tidying her room, after which, utterly 
worn out, and as white as wax, she again lay down. It was thus 
that Madame Josserand found her, when she had made up her mind 
to go up-stairs toward nine o’clock, greatly surprised at not seeing 
Adlle come down. The servant having complained of a violent 
attack of diarrhoea which had kept her awake all night, madame 
exclaimed: 

“ Of course ! you must have eaten too much again! You think of 
nothing else but stuffing yourself. ” 

The girl’s paleness, however, made her uneasy, and she talked of 
sending for the doctor; but she was glad to save the three francs, 
when Adele vowed that she merely needed rest. Since her husband’s 
death, Madame Josserand had been living with her daughter Hor- 
tense, on an allowance made her by the brothers Bernheim, but 
which did not prevent her from bitterly alluding to them as persons 
who lived on the brains of others; and she spent less than ever on 
food, so as not to descend to a lower level of society by quitting her 
apartments and giving up her Tuesday receptions. 

“ That’s right; sleep,” said she. “ There is some cold beef left 
which will do for this morning, and to-night we dine out. If you 
cannot come down to help Julie, she will have to do without you.” 

The dinner that evening at the Duveyriers’ was a very cordial 
one. All the family was there : the two Vabres and their wives, 
Madame Josserand, Hortense, Leon, and even uncle Bachelard, who 
behaved well. Moreover, they had invited Trublot to fill a vacant 
place, and Madame Dambreville, so as not to separate her from 
Leon. The latter, after his marriage with the niece, had once again 
fallen into the arms of the aunt, who was still necessary to him. 
They were seen to arrive together in all the drawing-rooms, and 
they would apologize for the young wife, whom a cold or a feeling of 
idleness, said they, kept at home. That evening the whole table 
complained of scarce knowing her: they loved her so much, she was 
so beautiful! Then they talked of the chorus which Clotilde was 
to give at the end of the evening; it was the “ Blessing of the Dag¬ 
gers ” again, but this time with five tenors, something complete 
and magisterial. For two months past, Duveyrier himself, who had 
become quite charming, had been looking up the friends of the 
house, and saying to every one he met: “ You are quite a stranger, 
come and see us; my wife is going to give her choruses again.” 
Therefore, half through the dinner, they talked of nothing but 
music. The happiest good-nature and the most free-hearted 
gayety prevailed throughout. 

Then, after the coffee, and whilst the ladies sat round the draw¬ 
ing-room fire, the gentlemen formed a group in the parlor and 


POT-BOUILLE 


251 


began to exchange some grave ideas. The other guests were now 
arriving. And among the earliest were Campardon, Abbe Mauduit, 
and Doctor Juillerat, without including the diners, with the excep¬ 
tion of Trublot, who had disappeared on leaving the table. They 
almost immediately commenced talking politics. The debates in 
the Chamber deeply interested the gentlemen, and they had not yet 
given over discussing the success of the opposition candidates for 
Paris, all of whom had been returned at the May elections. This 
triumph of the dissatisfied portion of the middle classes made them 
feel anxious at heart, in spite of their apparent delight. 

“ Dear me! ” declared Leon, “ Monsieur Thiers is certainly a 
most talented man. But he puts so much acrimony into his 
speeches on the Mexican expedition that he quite spoils their effect. ” 

He had just been named to a higher appointment, through 
Madame Dambreville’s influence, and had at once joined the gov¬ 
ernment party. The only thing that remained in him of the fam¬ 
ished demagogue, was an unbearable intolerance of all doctrines. 

“ Not long ago you were accusing the government of every sin, ” 
said the doctor, s milin g. “ I hope you at least voted for Monsieur 
Thiers. ” 

The young man avoided answering. Theophile, whose stomach 
was no longer able to digest his food, and who was worried with 
fresh doubts as to his wife’s constancy, exclaimed: 

“ I voted for him. When men refuse to live as brothers, so much 
the worse for them ! ” 

“ And so much the worse for you, as well, eh ? ” remarked Duvey- 
rier, who, speaking but little, uttered some very profound observa¬ 
tions. 

Theophile, greatly scared, looked at him. Auguste no longer 
dared admit that he had also voted for Monsieur Thiers. Then 
every one was very much surprised to hear uncle Bachelard utter a 
legitimist profession of faith: he thought it the most genteel. Cam- 
pardon seconded him warmly; he had abstained from voting him¬ 
self, because the official candidate, Monsieur Dewinck, did not offer 
sufficient guarantees as regards religion; and he furiously declaimed 
against Renan’s “Life of Jesus,” which had recently made its 
appearance. 

“It is not the book that should be burnt; it is the author,” 
repeated he. 

“ You are, perhaps, too radical, my friend, ” interrupted the priest, 
in a conciliatory tone. “ But, indeed, the symptoms are becoming 
terrible. There is some talk of driving away the pope, the revolu¬ 
tion has invaded parliament. We are walking on the edge of a 
precipice. ” 

“ So much the better! ” said Doctor Juillerat, simply. 

Then the others all protested. He renewed his attacks against 
the middle classes, prophesying that there would be a clean sweep 
the day when the masses wished to enjoy power in their turn; and 
the others loudly interrupted him, exclaiming that the middle 


252 


POT-BOUILLE 


classes represented the virtue, the industry, and the thrift of the 
nation. Duveyrier was at length able to make himself heard. Ho 
owned it before all: he had voted for Monsieur Dewinck, not that 
Monsieur Dewinck exactly represented his opinions, but because he 
was the symbol of order. Yes, the saturnalia of the Reign of 
Terror might one day return. Monsieur Rouher, that remarkable 
statesman who had just succeeded Monsieur Billault, had formally 
prophesied it in the Chamber. He concluded with these striking 
words: 

“ The triumph of the opposition is the preliminary subsidence of 
the structure. Take care that it does not crush you in falling! ” 

The other gentlemen held their peace, with the unavowed fear of 
having allowed themselves to be carried away even to compromising 
their personal safety. They beheld workmen begrimed with 
powder and blood, entering their homes, violating their maid¬ 
servants and drinking their wine. No doubt, the Emperor deserved 
a lesson; only, they were beginning to regret having given him so 
severe a one. 

“ Be easy! ” concluded the doctor, scoffingly. u We will manage 
to save you from the bullets. ” 

But he was going too far, they set him down as an original. It 
was, moreover, thanks to this reputation for originality, that he did 
not lose his connection. He continued, by resuming with Abbe 
Mauduit their eternal quarrel respecting the approaching downfall 
of the Church. Leon now sided with the priest: he talked of 
Providence, and, on Sundays, accompanied Madame Dambreville to 
nine o’clock mass. 

Meanwhile, the guests continued to arrive, the drawing-room was 
becoming quite filled with ladies. Valerie and Berthe were exchang¬ 
ing little secrets, like two good friends. The other Madame Cam- 
pardon, whom the architect had brought no doubt in place of poor 
Rose, who was already in bed up-stairs and reading Dickens, was 
giving Madame Josserand an economical recipe for washing clothes 
without soap; whilst Hortense, seated all by herself and expecting 
Verdier, did not take her eyes off the door. But suddenly Clotilde, 
while conversing with Madame Dambreville, rose up and held out 
her hands. Her friend, Madame Octave Mouret, had just entered 
the room. The marriage had taken place early in November, at 
the end of her mourning. 

11 And your husband? ” asked the hostess. “ He is not going to 
disappoint me, I hope ? ” 

“ No, no, ” answered Caroline, with a smile. u He will be here 
directly; something detained him at the last moment.” 

There was some whispering, glances full of curiosity were directed 
toward her, so calm and so lovely, ever the same, with the pleasant 
assurance of a woman who succeeds in everything she undertakes. 
Madame Josserand pressed her hand, as though she were delighted 
to see her again. Berthe and Valerie left off talking and examined 
her at their ease, studying her costume, a straw-color dress covered 


POT-BOUILLE 


253 


with lace. But, in the midst of this quiet forgetfulness of the past, 
Auguste, whom the political discussion had left quite cool, was giv¬ 
ing signs of indignant amazement as he stood near the parlor door. 
What! his sister was going to receive the family of his wife’s former 
lover! And, in his marital rancor, there was a touch of the jeal¬ 
ous anger of the tradesman ruined by a triumphant competition; 
for u The Ladies’ Paradise,” by extending its business and creating 
a special department for silk, had so drained his resources that he 
had been obliged to take a partner. He drew near, and, whilst 
every one was making much of Madame Mouret, he whispered to 
Clotilde: 

“ You know, I will never put up with it.” 

“ Put up with what ? ” asked she, greatly surprised. 

“ I do not mind the wife so much, she has not done me any harm. 
But if the husband comes, I shall take hold of Berthe by the arm, 
and leave the room in the presence of everybody.” 

She looked at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. Caroline 
was her oldest friend, she was certainly not going to give up seeing 
her, just to satisfy his caprices. As though any one even recollected 
the matter. He would do far better not to rake up things forgotten 
by everybody but himself. And as, deeply affected, he looked to 
Berthe for support, expecting that she would get up and follow him 
at once, she calmed him with a frown; was he mad ? did he wish 
to make himself more ridiculous than he had ever been before ? 

“ But it is in order that I may not appear ridiculous! ” replied he, 
in despair. 

Then Madame Josserand inclined toward him, and, said in a 
severe tone of voice: 

“ It is becoming quite indecent; every one is looking at you. Do 
behave yourself for once in a way. ” 

He held his tongue, but without submitting. From this moment 
a certain uneasiness existed among the ladies. The only one who 
preserved her smiling tranquillity was Madame Mouret, now sitting 
beside Clotilde and opposite Berthe. They watched Auguste, who 
had retired to the window recess where his marriage had been 
decided, not so very long before. His anger was bringing on a 
headache, and he now and again pressed his forehead against the 
icy-cold panes. 

Octave did not arrive till very late. As he reached the landing, 
he met Madame Juzeur, who had just come down, wrapped in a 
shawl. She complained of her chest, and had got up on purpose 
not to disappoint the Duveyriers. Her languid state did not pre¬ 
vent her falling into the young man’s arms, as she congratulated 
him on his marriage. 

“ How delighted I am with such a splendid result, my friend! 
Really! I was quite in despair about you, I never thought you 
would have succeeded. Tell me, you rascal, how did you manage 
to get over her ? ” 

Octave smiled and kissed her fingers. But some one who was 


254 


POT-BOUILLE 


bounding up-stairs with the agility of a goat, disturbed them ; and, 
greatly surprised, they fancied they recognized Saturnin. It was 
indeed Saturnin, who a week before had left the Asile des Mou- 
lineaux, where for a second time Doctor Chassagne declined to 
detain him any longer, still considering him not sufficiently _ mad. 
No doubt he was going to spend the evening with Marie Pichon, 
just as in former days, when his parents had company. And those 
bygone times were suddenly evoked. Octave could hear an expir¬ 
ing voice coming from above, singing the ballad with which Marie 
whiled away her vacant hours j he beheld her once more eternally 
alone, beside the crib in which Lilitte slumbered, and awaiting 
Jules’ return with all the complacency of a gentle and useless 
woman. 

“ I wish you every happiness with your wife,” repeated Madame 
Juzeur, tenderly squeezing Octave’s hands. 

In order hot to enter the drawing-room with her, he was pur¬ 
posely occupying some time in removing his overcoat, when Trub- 
lot, in his dress clothes, bareheaded, and looking quite upset, came 
from the passage leading to the kitchen. 

“ You know she’s not at all well! ” murmured he, whilst Hippo- 
lyte announced Madame Juzeur. 

“ Who isn’t ? ” asked Octave. 

“ Why Adele, the servant up-stairs. ” 

Hearing there was something the matter with her, he had gone 
up quite paternally, on leaving the dinner-table. It must have 
been a very severe attack of cholerine; a good glass of mulled wine 
was what she ought to have, and she had not even a lump of sugar. 
Then, as he noticed that his friend smiled in an indifferent sort of 
way, he added : 

“ Hallo! I forgot you’re married, you joker ! This sort of thing 
no longer interests you. I never thought of that when I found you 
with madame. Anything yon like except that! ” 

They entered together. The ladies were just then speaking of 
their servants, and were taking such interest in the conversation, 
that they did not notice them at first. All were complacently 
approving Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to explain, in an 
embarrassed way, why she continued to keep Clemence and Hippo- 
lyte: he was rough, but she dressed her so well that one could not 
help shutting one’s eyes to other matters. Neither Val6rie nor 
Berthe could succeed in securing a decent girl; they had given it up in 
despair, after trying every registry office, the good-for-nothing 
servants from which had done no more than pass through their 
kitchens. Madame Josserand violently abused Adffie, of whom she 
related some fresh abominable and stupid doings of extraordinary 
character; and yet she did not send her about her business. As 
for the other Madame Campardon, she was quite enthusiastic in her 
praises of Lisa: a pearl, not a thing to reproach her with; in short, 
one of those deserving domestics to whom one gives prizes. 

“ She is quite one of the family now, ” said she. “ Our little 


POT-BOUILLE 


2.- 

Angele is attending some lectures at the Hotel de Ville, and Lh 
accompanies her. Oh ! they might remain out together for day* 
we should not he in the least anxious. ” 

It was at this moment that the ladies caught sight of Octave. B 
was advancing to wish Clotilde good-evening. Berthe looked t 
him; then, without the least affectation, she resumed her converst 
tion with Valerie, who had exchanged with him the affectionat 
glance of disinterested friendship. The others—Madame Josseram 
Madame Dambreville — without throwing themselves at him, sui 
veyed him with sympathetic interest. 

“ So here you are at last! ” said Clotilde, who was most amiable 
“ I was beginning to tremble for the chorus.” 

And, as Madame Mouret gently scolded her husband for being s 
late, he made some excuses. 

“ But, my dear, I was unable to come sooner. I am most sorrj 
madame. However, I am now entirely at your disposal. ” 

Meanwhile, the ladies were anxiously watching the window receE 
into which Auguste had retired. They received a momentary frigh 
when they beheld him turn round at the sound of Octave’s voic( 
His headache was no doubt worse; he had a restless look about th 
eyes, which seemed full of the darkness of the street. He at lengt] 
appeared to make up his mind, and, returning to his former positio 
beside his sister’s chair, ho said. 

“ Send them away, or else we will leave.” 

Clotilde again shrugged her shoulders. Then Auguste seenm 
disposed to give her time to consider: he would wait a few minute 
longer, more especially as Trublot had taken Octave into the parloi 
The other ladies were still uneasy, for they had heard the husban 
whisper in his wife’s ear: 

“ If he comes back here, you must get up and\follow me. Othei 
wise, you may return to your mother’s. ” 

In the parlor, the gentlemen greeted Octave quite as cordiallj 
If Leon made a point of showing a little coolness, Uncle Bachelarc 
and even Theophile, seemed to declare, as they held out their hand 
to Octave, that the family forgot everything. He congratulates 
Campardon, who, decorated two days previously, now wore a broai 
red ribbon; and the beaming architect scolded him for never callin. 
now and then to pass an hour with his wife: though one got marriec 
it was scarcely nice to forget friends of fifteen years’ standing. Bu 
the young man felt quite surprised and anxious as he stood befor 
Duveyrier. He had not seen him since his recovery. Ho looke 
uneasily at his jaw, all out of place, dropping too much on the lei 
side, and which now gave a horrid squinting expression to his coun 
tenance. Then, when the counselor spoke, he had another surprist 
his voice had lowered two tones; it had become quite sepulchral. 

“ Don’t you think him much better thus 1 ? ” said Trublot to Octave 
as they returned to the drawing-room door. u It positively give 
him a certain majestic air. I saw him presiding at the assizes, th 
day before yesterday — Listen! they are talking of it.” 


I 


256 


POT-BOUILLE 


And indeed the gentlemen had abandoned politics to take up 
morality. They were listening to Duveyrier as he gave some details 
of an affair in which his attitude had been particularly noticed. He 
was even about to be named a president and an officer of the Legion 
of Honor. It was respecting an infanticide already a year old. The 
unnatural mother, a regular savage, as he said, happened to be the 
boot-stitcher, his former tenant, that tall, pale and friendless girl, 
whose pregnant condition had roused Monsieur Gourd’s indignation 
so much. "And besides that, she was altogether stupid! for, without 
reflecting that her appearance would betray her, she had gone and 
cut her child in two and kept it at the bottom of a bonnet-box. She 
had naturally told the jury quite a ridiculous romance: a seducer 
who had deserted her; misery, hunger, and then a fit of mad despair 
on seeing herself unable to supply the little one’s wants: in a word, 
the same story they all told. But it was necessary to make an 
example. Duveyrier congratulated himself on having summed up 
with that lucidity which often decided a jury’s verdict. 

“ And what was your sentence ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ Five years, ” replied the counselor in his new voice, which 
seemed both hoarse and sepulchral. “ It is time to oppose a dyke 
to the debauchery which threatens to submerge Paris.” 

Trublot nudged Octave’s elbow; they were both acquainted with 
the facts of the attempt at suicide. 

“Eh? you hear him?” murmured he. “Without joking, it 
improves his voice: it stirs one more, does it not ? it goes straight 
to the heart now. Ah! if you had only seen him, standing up, 
draped in his long red robes, with his mug all askew! On my word! 
he quite frightened me; he was extraordinary; oh! you know! a 
style in his majesty enough to make your flesh creep! ” 

But he left off speaking, and listened to the ladies in the drawing¬ 
room, who were again on the subject of servants. That very morn¬ 
ing, Madame Duveyrier had given Julie a week’s notice; she had 
nothing certainly to say against the girl’s cooking; only, good 
behavior came before everything in her eyes. The truth was that, 
warned by Doctor Juillerat, and anxious for the health of her son, 
whose little goings-on she tolerated at home, so as to keep them 
under control, she had had an explanation with Julie, who had been 
unwell for some time past; and the latter, like a genteel cook, whose 
style was not to quarrel with her employers, had accepted her 
week’s notice. Madame Josserand at once shared Clotilde’s indig¬ 
nation ; yes, one should be very strict on the question of morality; 
for instance, if she kept that slut Addle in spite of her dirty ways, 
and her stupidity, it was because the girl was virtuous. Oh! on 
that point, she had nothing whatever to reproach her with! 

“ Poor Addle ! when one only thinks ! ” murmured Trublot, again 
affected at the thought of the wretched creature, half frozen up¬ 
stairs beneath her thin blanket. 

Then, bending toward Octave’s ear, he added with a chuckle: 

“ I say, Duveyrier might at least take her up a bottle of claret! ” 


POT-BOUILLE 


257 


“ Yes, ^gentlemen, ” the counselor was continuing, “ statistics will 
hear me out, the crime of infanticide is increasing in the most fright¬ 
ful proportions. Sentiment prevails to too great an extent in the 
present day, and far too much consideration is shown to science, to 
your pretended physiology, all of which will end by there soon being 
neither good nor evil. One cannot cure debauchery; the thing is to 
destroy it at its root.” 

This refutation was addressed above all to Doctor Juillerat, who 
had wished to give a medical explanation of the boot-stitcher's case. 

The other gentlemen also exhibited great severity and disgust. 
Campardon could not understand vice, uncle Bachelard defended 
infancy, Theophile demanded an inquiry, Leon discussed the ques¬ 
tion of prostitution in its relations with the state; whilst Trublot, 
in answer to an inquiry of Octave's, talked of Duveyrier's new 
mistress, who was a decent sort of a woman this time, rather 
mature, but romantic, with a soul expanded by that ideal which the 
counselor required to purify love; in short, a worthy person who 
gave him a peaceful home, imposing upon him as much as she liked 
and sleeping with his friends, without making any unnecessary fuss. 
And the Abbe Mauduit alone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the 
ground, his mind sorely troubled, and full of an infinite sadness. 

They were now about to sing the “ Blessing of the Daggers.” 
The drawing-room had filled up, a flood of rich dresses was crushing 
in the brilliant light from the chandelier and the lamps, whilst gay 
bursts of laughter ran along the rows of chairs ; and, in the midst 
of the buzz, Clotilde in a low voice roughly chided Auguste, who, 
on seeing Octave enter with the other gentlemen of the chorus, had 
caught hold of Berthe’s arm to make her leave her seat. But ha 
was already beginning to yield, feeling more and more embarrassed 
in the presence of the ladies' dumb disapproval, whilst his head had 
become entirely the prey of triumphant neuralgia. Madame Dam- 
breville's stern looks quite drove him to despair, and even the other 
Madame Campardon was against him. It was reserved to Madame 
Josserand to finish him off. She abruptly interfered, threatening to 
take back her daughter and never to pay him the fifty thousand 
francs dowry; for she was always promising this dowry with the 
greatest coolness imaginable. Then, turning toward uncle Bach¬ 
elard, seated behind her, and next to Madame Juzeur, she made 
him renew his promises. The uncle placed his hand on his heart; 
he knew his duty, the family before everything! Auguste, repulsed 
on all sides, beat a retreat, and again sought refuge in the window 
recess, where he once more pressed his burning forehead against the 
icy-cold panes. 

Then Octave experienced a singular sensation as though his 
Paris life was beginning over again. It was as though the two 
years he had lived in the Rue de Choiseul had been a blank. 
His wife was there, smiling at him, and yet nothing seemed to 
have passed in his existence; to-day was the same as yesterday, 
Pot-Bouille 17 


258 


POT-BOUILLE 


there was neither pause nor ending. Trublot showed him ths 
new partner standing beside Berthe, a little fair fellow very neat 
in his ways, who gave her, it was said, no end of presents. 
Uncle Bachelard, who was now going in for poetry, was reveal¬ 
ing himself in a sentimental light to Madame Juzeur, whom he 
quite affected with some intimate details respecting Fifi and 
Gueulin. Theophile, devoured by doubts, doubled up by violent 
fits of coughing, was imploring Doctor Juillerat in an out-of-the- 
way corner to give his wife something to quiet her. Campardon, 
his eyes fixed on cousin Gasparine, was talking of the diocese of 
Evreux, and jumping from that to the great works of the new Rue 
du Dix Decembre, defending God and art, sending the world about 
its business, for at heart he did not care a hang for it, he was an 
artist! And behind a flower-stand there could even be seen the 
back of a gentleman, whom all the marriageable girls contemplated 
with an air of profound curiosity; it was Yerdier, who was talking 
with Hortense, the pair of them having an acrimonious explana¬ 
tion, again putting off their marriage till the spring, so as not to 
turn the woman and her child into the street in the depth of 
winter. 

Then the chorus was sung afresh. The architect, with his mouth 
wide open, gave out the first line. Clotilde struck a chord, and 
uttered her cry. And the other voices burst forth, the uproar 
increased little by little, and spread with a violence that scared the 
candles and caused the ladies to turn pale. Trublot, having been 
found wanting among the basses, was being tried a second time as 
a baritone. The five tenors were much noticed, Octave especially, 
to whom Clotilde regretted being unable to give a solo. When the 
voices fell, and she had applied the soft pedal, imitating the 
cadenced and distant footsteps of a departing patrol, the applause 
was deafening, and she, together with the gentlemen, had every 
praise showered upon them. And at the farthest end of the adjoin¬ 
ing room, right behind a triple row of men in evening dress, one 
beheld Duveyrier clenching his teeth so as not to cry aloud with 
anguish, with his mouth all on one side, and his festering eruptions 
almost bleeding. 

The tea coming next, unrolled the same procession, distributed 
the same cups and the same sandwiches. For a moment, the Abbd 
Mauduit found himself once more in the middle of the deserted 
drawing-room. He looked through the wide-open door, on the 
crush of guests; and, vanquished, he smiled, he again cast the 
mantle of religion over this corrupt middle-class society, like a 
master in the ceremonies draping the canker, to stave off the final 
decomposition. He must save the Church, as Heaven had not 
answered his cry of misery and despair. 

At length, the same as on every Saturday, when midnight struck, 
the guests began to withdraw. Campardon was among the first to 
leave, with the other Madame Campardon. Leon and Madame 
Dambreville were not long in maritally following them. Verdier’s 


POT-BOUILLE 


21 


back had long ago disappeared, when Madame Josserand went ( 
with Hortense, bullying her for what she called her romant 
obstinacy. Uncle Bachelard, very drunk from the punch he h£ 
taken, detained Madame Juzeur a moment at the door, finding h 
advice full of experience quite refreshing. Trublot, who had stole 
some sugar for Adele, was making for the passage leading to tl 
kitchen, when the presence of Berthe and Auguste in the ant 
room embarrassed him, and he pretended to be looking for h 
hat. 

But, just at this minute, Octave and his wife, escorted by Clotild 
also came out and asked for their wraps. There ensued a fe 
seconds of embarrassment, The ante-room was not large, Bertl 
and Madame Mouret were pressed against each other, whilst Hi] 
polyte was searching for their things. They both smiled. Thei 
when the door was opened, the two men, Octave and August 
brought face to face, did the polite, each stepping aside. At lengtl 
Berthe consented to pass out first, after an exchange of bows. An 
Valerie, who was leaving in her turn with Theophiie, again looke 
at Octave in the affectionate way of a disinterested friend. He an 
she alone might have told each other everything. 

“ Good-bye,” repeated Clotilde graciously to the two families, 
before returning to the drawing-room. 

Octave stopped short. He had just caught sight on the next 
floor of the partner, the neat little fair fellow, taking his departure 
like the rest, and whose hands Saturnin, who had just left Marie, 
was pressing in an outburst of savage tenderness, stuttering the 
while: “ Friend — friend— friend— ” A singular feeling of jealousy 
at first darted through him. Then he smiled. It was the past; 
and he again recalled his amours, all his campaign of Paris, the 
complacencies of that good little Pichon, the repulse he received 
from Valerie, of whom he preserved a pleasant recollection; his 
stupid connection with Berthe, which he regretted as pure waste of 
time. Now he had transacted his business, Paris was conquered; 
and he gallantly followed her whom in his heart he still styled 
Madame Hedouin, every now and then stooping to see that the train 
of her dress did not catch in the stair-rods. 

The house had once more resumed its grand air of middle-class 
dignity. He fancied he could hear Marie’s distant and expiring 
ballad. Beneath the porch he met Jules coming in: Madame 
Vuillaume was at death’s door, and refused to see her daughter. 
Then, that was all, the doctor and the priest retired last and still 
arguing; Trublot had shyly gone up to Adele to attend to her; and 
the deserted staircase slumbered in a heavy warmth with its chaste 
doors inclosing respectable alcoves. One o’clock was striking, 
when Monsieur Gourd, whom Madame Gourd was snugly awaiting 
in bed, turned out the gas. Then the whole house lapsed into 
silent darkness, as though annihilated by the decency of its sleep. 
Nothing remained, life resumed its level of indifference and stu¬ 
pidity. 


260 


POT-BOUILLE 


On the following morning, Ad61e dragged herself down to her 
kitchen, so as to allay suspicion. A thaw had set in during the 
night, and she opened the window, feeling stifled, when Hippolyte’s 
voice rose furiously from the depths of the narrow courtyard. 

“ You dirty hussies! Who has been emptying her slops out of 
the window again ? Hadarue’s dress is quite spoilt! ” 

He had hung out one of Madame Duveyrier’s dresses given him to 
brush, and he found it all spattered with sour broth. Then, from 
the top to the bottom, the servants appeared at their windows and 
violently exculpated themselves. The sluice was open and a rush 
of the most abominable words flowed from the foul spot. In times 
of thaw, the walls were steeped with humidity, and quite a pesti¬ 
lence ascended from the obscure little courtyard, all the hidden cor¬ 
ruptions of the different floors seeming to melt and ooze out by this 
common sewer of the house. 

“ It.wasn’t me, ” said Adele, leaning out. “ I’ve only just come. ” 

Lisa abruptly raised her head. 

“ Hallo! so you’re on your legs again. Well, what was the mat¬ 
ter? Is it true that you almost croaked ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, I had such colics, and not at all funny, I can tell you! 99 

This put a stop to the quarrel. Valerie and Berthe’s new ser¬ 
vants, a big camel and a little jade, as they were termed, looked 
curiously at Adble’s pale face. Victoire and Julie also wished to 
see her, and stretched their necks, and leant their heads back. 
They all had an idea that there was something wrong, for it was 
unnatural to have such gripes and yell out as she did. 

“ Perhaps you’ve had something which didn’t agree with you, 99 
said Lisa. 

The others burst out laughing, another rush of foul language 
overflowed, whilst the wretched creature, awfully frightened, stam¬ 
mered : 

“ Hold your tongues, with your nasty words! I’m quite ill 
enough as it is. You don’t want to finish me off, do you ? ” 

No, of course not. She was as stupid as stupid could be, and 
dirty enough to disgust a whole neighborhood ; but they all held 
too closely together to bring her into any trouble. And they natur¬ 
ally turned to abusing their masters and mistresses j they criticised 
the party of the previous evening with looks of profound repug¬ 
nance. 

“ So they’ve all made it up again now ? ” asked Victoire as she 
sipped her glass of syrup and brandy. 

Hippolyte, who was wiping madame’s dress, replied: 

“ They’ve no more heart than my shoes. When they’ve spat in 
one another’s faces, they wash themselves with it, to make one 
believe they’re clean.” 

“ They must manage to agree somehow or other,” said Lisa. 
“ Otherwise it wouldn’t take long before our turn came.” 

But there was a moment of panic. A door opened, and the ser- 
T ants were already diving back into their kitchens, when Lisa 


POT-BOUILLE 


2( 


announced that it was only little Ang^le: there was nothing to fe; 
with her, she understood. And, from the foul spout, there aga: 
arose all the rancor of the domestics, in the midst of the poisonoi 
stench caused by the thaw. There was a grand spreading out 
all the dirty linen of the last two years. It was quite consoling n< 
to be ladies and gentlemen, when one beheld the masters and mi 
tresses living in the midst of it all, and apparently enjoying it, i 
they were preparing to go through it all again. 

“ Eh! I say, you, up there! ” suddenly shouted Victoire, “ was 
with Mug-askew that you had what didn’t agree with you ? ” 

At this, a ferocious yell of delight quite shook the stinking ces* 
pool. Hippolyte actually tore madame’s dress; but he did not car 
it was far too good for her as it was! The big camel and the litt 
jade were bent over the hand-rails of their windows, wriggling in 
mad burst of laughter. Adele, however, who was quite scared, ar 
who was half asleep through weakness, started, and she retorted: 
the midst of the jeers: 

“ You’re all of you heartless things. When you’re dying, I 
come and dance at your bedsides.” 

“Ah! mademoiselle,” resumed Lisa, leaning out to speak i 
Julie, “ how happy you must feel at leaving such a wretched hou, 
in a week! On my word, one becomes wicked here in spite 
oneself. I wish you a better home in your next place. ” 

Julie, her arms bare, and dripping with the blood from a turb< 
she had been just cleaning for that evening’s dinner, returned to tl 
window beside the footman. She shrugged her shoulders, and coi 
eluded with this philosophical reply: 

‘ 1 Dear me! mademoiselle, here or there, they’re all alike. In tl 
present day, whoever has been in the one has been in the othe 
It’s all Filth and Company. ” 


THE END. 



YOU? 


Do you feel dull, languid, low-spirited, 
lifeless, and indescribably miserable, both 
physically and mentally; experience a 
sense of fullness or bloating after eat¬ 
ing, or of “goneness,” or emptiness of 
stomach in the morning, tongue coated, 
bitter or bad taste in mouth, irregular 
appetite, dizziness, frequent headaches, 
blurred eyesight, “floating specks” be¬ 
fore the eyes, nervous prostration or 
exhaustion, irritability of temper, hot 
flushes, alternating* with chilly sensa¬ 
tions, sharp, biting, transient pains here 
and there, cold feet, drowsiness after 
meals, wakefulness, or disturbed and 
unrefreshing sleep, constant, indescrib¬ 
able feeling of dread, or of impending 
calamity ? 

If you have all, or any considerable 
number of these symptoms, you are 
suffering from that most common ot 
American maladies—Bilious Dyspepsia, 
or Torpid Liver, associated with Dys¬ 
pepsia. or Indigestion. The more com¬ 
plicated your disease has become, the 
greater the number and diversity of 
symptoms. No matter what stage it has 
reached. Dr. Pierce’s Golden medi¬ 
cal Discovery will subdue it, if taken 
according to directions for a reasonable 
length of time. If not cured, complica¬ 
tions multiply and Consumption of the 
Lungs. Skin Diseases, Heart Disease, 
Rheumatism, Kidney Disease, or other 
grave maladies are quite liable to set 
in and, sooner or later induce a fatal 
termination. 

Dr- Pierce’s Golden Medical 
Discovery acts powerfully upon the 
Liver, and through that great blood- 
purifying organ, cleanses the system of 
all blood-taints and impurities, from 
whatever cause arising. It is equally 
efficacious in acting upon the Kidneys, 
and other excretory organs, cleansing, 
strengthening, and healing their dis¬ 
eases. As an appetizing, restorative 
tonic, it promotes digestion and nutri¬ 
tion, thereby building up both flesh and 
strength. In malarial districts, this 
wonderful medicine has gamed great 
celebrity in curing Fever and Ague, 
Chills and Fover, Dumb Ague, and kin¬ 
dred diseases. 

Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical 
Discovery 

CURES ALL HUMORS, 

from a common Blotch, or Eruption, 
to the worst Scrofula. bait-rheum. 


41 Fe^er-sores,” Scaly or Rough Skin, 
in short, all diseases caused by bad 
blood are conquered by this powerful, 
purifying, and invigorating medicine. 
Great Eating Ulcers rapidly heal under 
its benign influence. Especially has it 
manifested its potency in curing Tet¬ 
ter, Eczema, Erysipelas, Boils, Carbun¬ 
cles, Sore Eyes, Scrofulous Sores and 
Swellings, Hip-joint Disease, “White 
Swellings,” Gcitre, or Thick Neck, and 
Enlarged Glands. Send ten cents in 
stamps tor a large Treatise, with col¬ 
ored plates, on Skin Diseases, or the 
same amount for a Treatise on Scrofu¬ 
lous Affections. 

“ FOR THE BLOOD IS THE LIFE.” 

Thoroughly cleanse it by using Dr. 
Pierce’s Golden Medical Discov¬ 
ery, and good digestion, a fair skin, 
buoyant spirits, vital strength and bod¬ 
ily health will be established. 

CONSUMPTION, 

which is Scrofula of the Dungs, is 

arrested and cured by this remedy, if 
taken in the earlier stages of the dis¬ 
ease. From its marvelous power over 
this terribly fatal disease, when first 
offering this now world-famed remedy 
to the public. Dr. Pierce thought seri¬ 
ously of calling it his “Consumption 
Cure,” but abandoned that name as 
too restrictive for a medicine which, 
from its wonderful combination o* 
tonic, or strengthening, alterative, or 
blood-cleansing, anti - bilious, pectoral, 
and nutritive properties, is unequaled, 
not only as a remedy for Consumption, 
but for all Chronic Diseases of the 

Liver, Blood,! Lungs. 

For Weak Lungs, Spitting of Blood, 
Shortness of Breath, Chronic Nasal 
Catarrh, Bronchitis, Asthma, Severe 
Ccughs, and kindred affections, it is 
an efficient remedy. Sold by Druggists, 
at $1.00, or Six Bottles for $5.00. 

JSS^Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s book on Consumption. 

Address, 

World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 

663 Main Street, Buffa.i.o, N. Y. 


$500 


REWARD 


is offered by the manufacturers of 
Dr, Sage’s Catarrh Remedy, 
for a case of Chronic Catarrh which 
they cannot cure. Remedy sold by druggists. 50 cents. 








UNACQUAINTED WITH THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE COUNTRY, 
WILL OBTAIN MUCH VALUABLE INFORMATION FROM 
A STUDY OF THIS MAP OF THE 





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CHICAGO, ROCK ISLAND & PACIFIC R’Y. 

Its main lines and branches include CHICAGO, PEORIA, MOLINE, ROCK ISLAND, 
DAVENPORT, DES MOINES, COUNCIL BLUFFS, MUSCATINE, KANSAS CITY, 
ST. JOSEPH, LEAVENWORTH, ATCHISON, CEDAR RAPIDS, WATERLOO, MINNE¬ 
APOLIS and ST. PAUL, and scores of intermediate cities. Choice of routes to and from the 
Pacific Coast. All transfers in Union depots. Fast trains of Fine Day Coaches, Elegant Dining 
Cars, Magnificent Pullman Palace Sleepers, and (between Chicago, St. Joseph, Atchison and 
Kansas City) Reclining Chair Cars, Seats Free, to holders of through first-class tickets. 

CHICAGO, KANSAS & NEBRASKA R’Y, “Great Rock Island Route,” 

Extends West and Southwest from Kansas City and St. Joseph to NELSON, HORTON, BELLE¬ 
VILLE, TOPEKA, HERINGTON, WICHITA, HUTCHINSON, CALDWELL, and all points 
in KANSAS AND SOUTHERN NEBRASKA and beyond. Entire passenger equip¬ 
ment of the celebrated Pullman manufacture. All safety appliances and modern improvements. 

THE FAMOUS ALBERT LEA ROUTE 

Is the favorite between Chicago, Rock Island, Atchison, Kansas City and Minneapolis and St. Paul. 
Its Watertown branch traverses the great “WHEAT AND DAIRY BELT” of Northern Iowa, 
Southwestern Minnesota and East Central Dakota to Watertown, Spirit Lake, Sioux Falls, and 
•nany other towns and cities. 

The Short Line via Seneca and Kankakee offers superior facilities to travel to and from Indi¬ 
anapolis, Cincinnati and other Southern points. 

For Tickets, Maps, Folders, or desired information, apply at any Coupon Ticket Office, or 

address E. ST. JOHN, E. A. HOLBROOK, 

Gen’l Manager. Gen’l Tkt. & Pass. Agt. 

CHICAGO, ILL. 






























D. F. BIGELOW. 
FOLGER H. BIGELOW. 

STUDIO: 

42 Lakeside Building, 

Clark and Adams Streets, 

CHICAGO. 


INSTRUCTION IN 

LANDSCAPE PAINTING, 

Fruit, Still Life and 
Water Colors. 

For Terms, Send for Circulars. 

Second Annual Sketching Party ax 
Fairlee, Vt., July and August, 1889. 
Instructors: D. F. Bigelow, A. W. Kenny, 


A delightful and instructive vacation for those interested in out-door sketching. 

For particulars address D. F. BIGELOW. 


COMPLEXION. 


T A T"f7 0 Madame Ruppert, formerly of Paris, has thoroughly studied the art 
A I I I P ° .dermatology, an d will positively remove freckles, pimples, moth- 
JUlliJl UU • wnn kle s , redness of nose, and all skin blemishes. Every article 
'guaranteed harmless. Face bleach for beautifying and clearing the 
skin One Dollar per bottle. Bust Developer One Dollar per box. Elegant book 
of receipts for the complexion 25 cents. Full line of manicure goods. A limited num¬ 
ber of pupils taught. Agents wanted in every town. All goods warranted. Send 
Four Cents, or call, for circulars. Consultation free. 


MME. a. ruppert, 

243 State Street, Rooms 1 and 2, CHICAGO, ILL. 



All Other Work FREE 


SMALL CHARGE FOR MATERIAL. 

TEETH EXTRACTED WITH GAS. 

Northwestern Dental Infirmary, 

Room 210. Chicago Opera House Building. 

OLD GOLD $ SILVER 

BOUGHT. 

Highest cash price paid for all kinds of broken, unused, or out-of-style Jewelry, 
Watches, Chains, Rings, Teeth-plates, Silverware, etc., in small or large quantities. 
Bookbinders’ Cloths and (Rubber, Gilders’ Cottons and Gold Waste, Photographed 
and Jewelers’ Wastes refined. Send by mail or express. Prompt returns made 

PENNA. SMELTING CO., 

903 FILBERT ST. ATJri 55 RANDOLPH ST., 

Philadelphia, Pa., N Chicago, Ill. 




































HCWMn, / 


/ 





Z£'£. ' 


Kankakee 









SOLID TRAINS Wll 

THE GREAT 

THROUGH LINE 

parlor <?ars, Reclining <?hal 

BETWEEN 

® <r 

PULLMAN SLEEPERS & ELEGANT C 

Special <i) 

-^®WBETWEEN-v®^- 

CHICAGO AND INDIANAPOLIS? 


IW The BEST between CHICAGC 

(M CHATTANOOGA, ATLANTA, SAVA 


* . 

and all points in FLORIDA am 
fj#; Southeast. 




Ask for Tickets via the “ POPULAR 
LINE, ’ on sale at all principal coupon ol 
Country. 


City Ticket Office, 121 Randolph St. 

Depots, foot of Lake St., 22d St., and 39th 

J. C. TUCKER, JOHN 

Gen’ I N. W. Pass, Agt., Gen’l Pass. 

121 Randolph Sf., Chicago. 


Cincin 








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































